Astray
by antiheld
Summary: An unknown force has begun to alter Middle-earth and its creatures in alarming ways, and it becomes apparent that there are worse things to lose than lives. An unsuspecting woman from our world gets swept up in a storm that has taken a world off course.
1. Prologue

I really don't remember what inspired me to come up with this very, very odd idea for a plot. Anyway, not having found anything along these lines so far, I decided to give it a try. I would appreciate any kind of feedback, so please let me know what you think.

A thousand thanks to Lady Demiya for editing. (in record time I might add)

In this tale we shall encounter Hobbits, Dwarves, Men and Elves, (Not in order of appearance) as well as Orcs, Trolls and a variety of other creatures, but also loads of OCs, so consider this your **Warning**. ;-)

**Disclaimer**: Everything is property of JRRT, bar ill-fated Anne. (Oh and Rhyswenlia - but you can have her, really…)

* * *

**:::**

**III III III**

...Prologue...

Anne looked up from the monitor for the third time in what seemed like less than half an hour. Again, she thought she had heard something outside; frowning and screwing up her eyes she tried to peer through the glass of the large window next to the dining table. However, the garden was pitch-black, and all she could see was her own reflection and those of the numerous lamps she had lit inside the living room.

Of course she was being silly; nothing was out there, except the neighbour's cat perhaps. She just was not used to being alone in the big house at night, and well - it was awfully quiet. Her parents had just left for a four-week cruise along the Scandinavian fjords, and since her sister Hannah had finally moved out a couple of months ago, Anne, living relatively close by, had agreed to house-sit. Despite being the older one by three years, Anne feared that Hannah might indeed have been the better choice for the task, and for this exact reason: It was dark; it was too quiet; she was alone – she was getting nervous.

Scolding herself for being such a chicken, she turned away from the dark window and back to her computer and to her reading, hoping to lose herself once more in 'Passionate Encounters'. She was up to chapter thirty-seven, and it seemed like the virgin was about to give up her (rather weak) resistance and finally surrender to her determined beloved.

* * *

"_Oh, I don't know, Telendir… Maybe this is a great mistake! You are an Elf - tall, strong, beautiful, noble, rich and humorous…whereas I am a mere human! And though I might seem like the obvious choice to espouse - due to my powers, given by the Valar themselves – Alas, the fact remains, that I am mortal and you are not!"_

"_Do not despair, Rhyswenlia, my love! And, stop making up excuses, we have been through this before. Have you forgotten that Arwen promised to present you, with half of her remaining lifespan, to thank you for saving Aragorn's life with your powers? Now, please hold still, I am trying to open these clasps…"_

_"But can I accept such a gift? It is true; she probably doesn't need a long life, with marrying Aragorn and all…"_

_"There you go. Whatever objections you have, my love - for you I shall conquer them all. Kindly stop fidgeting, will you…"_

_"Telendir! I have to remain a virgin until I'm eighteen, or the Valar won't remove the curse from me. The one that kills the second born in every household I set foot into! And it is but two more days…"_

* * *

This time, there was a distinctive scraping noise from outside, somewhere near the window. Once again, Anne tore her gaze away from the screen and tried to make out something in the dark. Nothing, of course there was nothing. They lived on the countryside, the most boring and uneventful small town imaginable; nothing ever happened here. The quietness was playing tricks on her mind that was all. Well, that and the After-effect of reading too much nonsense maybe. There was no sound apart from that of the constantly ticking grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

She returned to the more pressing matters…

* * *

… _But, her beloved cut her short fiercely. "Nay! I cannot hold back anymore! I know it is wrong, but our love is worth it. And my younger brother, Teleg, he is my archenemy anyway. Usurper of the throne, that he is."_

_It was then that Teleg burst into their chambers, roaring with fury, for he had been eavesdropping. "You will never prevail over me, Telendir! And, Rhyswenlia I shall claim for myself! ..."_

* * *

Anne's head shot up. Something had just triggered the motion sensor; its lamp was casting a yellowish light beam over part of the narrow, gravelled path, the house wall and the little garden gate.

All right, this was it. Irrational fear or not.

In one swift motion, Anne was out of her chair and pushed the button for the standby mode on her laptop. After turning out the light, she all but ran to her room, where, crawling into bed and pulling the covers half over her head, she felt slightly foolish – but also a lot safer. Even if it was just a stray cat, (which no doubt it was) she was exhausted; it was late at night and the story had another fourteen chapters. Now that she thought about it, Anne remembered that she had also meant to finish a few other rather epic tales for quite some time, _"Fëanor's Concubines" _and _"Passionate Meetings"_, the prequel to _"Passionate Encounters"._

'Well, there's always tomorrow …' was her last coherent thought, before succumbing to tiredness and slowly drifting into dreams, full of a variety of encounters. (Whether they were passionate or not, she would not remember the next day.)

**:::**

**III III III**

**:::**

The vacated living room was dark and quiet. The light of the motion sensor had gone out, the laptop screen was black, and the only sound was the low ticking of the grandfather clock. After a few minutes however, there was something else, almost inaudible. A faint scraping noise, that seemed to be coming from the wooden floor. Suddenly the laptop monitor lit up, emitting a faint bluish light in the otherwise darkened room, and showing once more chapter thirty-seven of "_Passionate Encounters_".

Another few minutes passed.

And then, at last, a voice started to speak in a low, strangely hollow-sounding whisper .

"Is everyone present?"

Suddenly the seemingly empty room was filled with something like a hissing sort of hum, as if a considerable number of people were trying to make their presence known while keeping there voices as low as possible.

"It would seem so," a second whisperer, who had a slightly whistling quality to their voice, answered the first. "By the way, who's act was that, with the light outside?"

"Ahem …" Though whispering, the third speaker somehow managed to sound slightly sheepish. "That would be me. I mean ... she was rather taking her time, so …"

"Then I expect you were responsible for the scraping noises as well?"

"Yes, what was that about? You don't even possess a bodily form right now."

"Oh, I simply thought it might add a little atmosphere …"

Someone - or something muttered about 'show-offs'. There was the low but distinctive sound of a throat being cleared.

"Let's return to the task at hand, shall we?" a particularly low, hoarse voice interrupted the dispute.

"Yes, yes – certainly. Are there any more thoughts on the matter before we proceed to action?"

"Well, her ... partialities are … interesting," someone murmured.

"That is not what I would call it," came a sharply hissed reply from somewhere near the sofa.

"I suppose, it does have a certain naïve charm …"

"Speak for yourself, _I_ find it rather disturbing."

"Now, disturbing or not," the hollow-sounding first whisperer raised their voice once more. "The decisive factor remains - these _... tales_ being completely harmless …" Someone gave a little cough at this, but the speaker went on: " ... yes, they are harmless, compared to ... _other_ things. For the effects of that we have all seen. Crucial is that she believes, that she imagines. Also she seems passionate enough."

"Even so, it is not said that sending her over will change anything," the hoarse-sounding whisperer said quietly. Others have crossed before without making a difference."

"True, and indeed I consider it improbable. Nevertheless, this has been discussed and we agreed to make one final attempt. Hereafter we shall leave Middle Earth to its own devices. It is, after all, not our sole responsibility."

A consenting murmur began.

"Any further objections?"

This time, only a long silence ensued.

"Then let us get this over with."

Approximately twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds later, the young woman named Anne, who had been sleeping soundly until that very moment, sat bolt upright without really waking. Eyes wide, staring blindly ahead, she opened her mouth as if trying to scream or perhaps just to draw breath, but seemed capable of neither. The last bit of oxygen left her lungs with a small, mildly surprised sounding "huh".

And with that, a soul disappeared from its designated place in our universe.

**III III III**

**:::**


	2. A Rude Awakening

**III III III**

**:::**

The first thing Anne became aware of, was the sound of her own breathing. It took a few seconds for her to realize what it was, since it seemed so rough and unnaturally loud – almost roaring in her ears. The second thing was the smell of the air around her. It was musty and stale, with a hint of sweat.

Trying to blink her eyes open, she found it more difficult than it should be; her eyelids seemed hopelessly sticky, as if she had a heavy head cold. She lifted her hand to rub them and noticed how weak her arm felt. At least her roaring breathing subsided now that she was waking up. Eventually, she was able to make out her surroundings a little better.

It was relatively dark, but she could see a beamed ceiling above her. She was lying on her back on a slightly uneven mattress, which in turn, was lying on a roughly made bedstead. The blanket was strangely stiff, and was covered with a white fabric, that might have been linen. Most of the unpleasant smell seemed to be coming from the bedding.

Slowly turning her head, she saw the faint and only light, which came from a candle in a brass holder on a tray, placed on a small wooden stool. Set on the tray were also a cup and a deep bowl, with a wet piece of cloth hanging over its rim.

Anne struggled to sit up, and looked around, frowning. The low, narrow chamber had stonewalls and a sloping ceiling with crossbeams. The wood was dark and ancient-looking. A solid door from the same wood was just visible at the further end of the room. There were three more beds next to hers, the sheets neatly folded at the foot of the bed. She could not recall ever having seen this place before, much less how she had gotten here.

Fear crept over her, and she sat up straighter, pushing away the mouldy-smelling blanket. Doing so, her attention was drawn to what she was wearing. It was some kind of simple white nightgown with a high neckline, long sleeves, and a hem, which would probably reach her ankles if she stood. Also, it smelled as though she had been wearing it for a week, without washing. The gown was slightly damp too, and she felt goose bumps on her arms, despite the warm, stifling air in the room. She became aware of muffled noises, not too far away. Where was she?

Her throat was tight when she swallowed, then she dragged her legs out from under the blanket, put her feet on the floor and attempted to stand. Again, she registered how weak her body felt - her back ached dully and her legs wobbled a bit from the effort. Nevertheless, she staggered to her feet.

This too was very strange. What had happened to her? Had she been sick? Perhaps the flu…It certainly felt like that, but she could neither remember getting sick, nor recovering from any illness.

She took two, three shaky steps. Her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, and she could make out more of the room. On the side where the ceiling was lowest, the wall was lined with large chests. The floorboards felt cool and smooth under her naked feet. She took a calming breath. There were other people here. She had to go and find someone who could explain what was gong on. She took a few more steps towards the door, ducking her head under one of the low hanging beams as she did so. At this moment, an echoing, very loud and horrible screech pierced the silence outside. Her head jerked upwards and collided painfully with the beam above. Gasping and with weeping eyes, she staggered sideways, grabbing the nearest bedpost and sat down on the bed.

Suddenly the door opened, and a blonde young woman, wearing an apron and a button-through dress, and carrying a lit candle and a clay jug, appeared on the threshold.

"Oh dear!" She exclaimed. "You're awake! I heard a thud and thought you might be … How are you feeling? Exhausted? No doubt, you must be! I should think so, after what you have been through… The fever was running high for many days, Elena, and even the healer they called said you might not pull through, you know! My name is Liecia, by the way. Oh, you must be thirsty …"

While chattering away, she bustled through the room, placed the candle on one of the chests, and went to pick up the cup from the tray on the stool. Pouring some water from her jug into the cup, she returned to the bed, where the other woman was sitting, staring at Liecia wide-eyed, confusion clearly written on her face. Liecia saw that she was still clutching her head.

"What is wrong with your head, did you hurt yourself? You did not fall off the bed, did you?"

"No, I … er …"

Liecia saw her glance up towards the ceiling; following her gaze, she laughed.

"Ah, say no more. You bumped against that darned beam there, didn't you? It happens to me five times a week … Now, you really should drink a little, Elena."

Saying so, she thrust the cup into Anne's hand, who stared at it mutely, but made no move to drink. Instead, she attempted to clear her throat, swallowed and then raised her eyes to look up at Liecia.

"What … what did you call me …?"

Liecia looked slightly taken aback. "Elena …? Is that not your name? But your brother said …" She paused, looking uncertain. Then she smiled again, though somewhat uneasily.

"What is you name then?" She asked kindly.

The young woman seemed vaguely alarmed by the question. Her eyes flitted through the room, before focusing on Liecia's face once more. When she spoke, her voice was calm, but strained – as if desperately trying to maintain control over something.

"I think … I think my name is Anne …"

**:::**

The _Rolling Barrel_ had seen better days. Busier and noisier days too, Dorlas Dockleaf remembered nostalgically. There had been a time when his inn was known as the prime address for good company and an excellent brew in the long stretch of land east of the Misty Mountains, between the Gladden Fields and Mirkwood. In fact, it also happened to be the only tavern in the whole area - but in Dockleaf's opinion, that could not diminish his well earned reputation.

Not only the Inn, but also the whole village of Carrockton had enjoyed great popularity for many years. The town was located at the western edge of the Eryn Lasgalen, where the Great East Road leads into the forest. Therefore, it had naturally become a trading centre for the Woodland Realm, Esgaroth, Rohan and even Eriador, especially after the end of the last great war.

However, those glorious days were gone. The current times were dark and strange, and seemingly getting worse. Orcs and other, even more terrifying creatures had started roaming the lands once more, which had not happened since the defeat of Mordor, more than forty years ago. Yet more disquieting were the rumours about what seemed to be going on in and around the Lasgalen itself - concerning its noble and well-respected inhabitants. From what the townsmen of Carrockton had heard, in most parts of Middle-earth, things appeared to be equally bad.

Dockleaf's family came from Bree, which was an old township of Eriador on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and many of his kin still dwelled there. Two months ago, one of his distant cousins, Fabian Pepperidge had arrived with a cart-load of pipe weed – but also bearing sinister-sounding tidings from the regions west of the mountain chain.

Usually, Dockleaf would have considered most of these things not his business, but the absence of customers – as people avoided travelling if possible, and all trading had nearly come to a standstill – meant that his own business went downhill rapidly. Tonight, clearly, would not be any better than any evening during the last few weeks.

He would have to let go another servant, he thought dolefully. With his clientele merely consisting of a few regulars and the odd traveller every now and then, he simply could not afford to keep them all. Or rather to keep any of them. At the rate things were going, this would soon be the case. Meaning that even with the few customers they had, it would be difficult to keep the _Barrel_ open in the end.

Nesta, one of the maidservants, who approached him at that moment, interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

"Master Dockleaf …?" She cast a glance towards the two men sitting at the far end of the counter who seemed absorbed in their own conversation, before addressing Dockleaf again in a hushed voice.

"The woman from Esgaroth is awake."

"Ah, some good news at last," Dockleaf said, his face lighting up. "She can finally tell us, what exactly happened there …"

Nesta looked uncertain. "Well … there might be a problem … Master, is the Ranger still here?"

Dockleaf frowned. "Indeed he is, sitting in the side room and smoking. Said, he would stay a couple of days. Now, what could possibly warrant bothering the only paying guest, who..."

"This woman," Nesta said urgently. "Liecia said she behaved very oddly. What, if she is … after all, we don't know what happened to them on their way here."

Dockleaf stared at her for a moment, and then cursed under his breath when he realized the meaning behind the servant's words.

"Go fetch the Ranger," he told her.

**:::**

**III III III**


	3. Questions and Answers

**:::**

**III III III**

Anne's mind was reeling as she was sitting on the bed, waiting for Liecia to return. The woman had left the room with a muttered apology, right after Anne had told her what she thought to be her name. Yes, she was sure about that, she realised now. Her name was Anne … but why had that other name – the one, Liecia had called her – seemed so familiar? It had been the weirdest feeling, knowing that she was the one being addressed, associating a familiar feeling with the name, and yet at the same time, she didn't believe anyone had ever called her that before. Was she losing her mind?

For the last five minutes or so, Anne had been desperately trying to remember something, or anything at all. Her mind was a dark, blurry mass. Whenever she thought she might get hold of something, it slipped from her metaphorical hands. Once or twice, images would appear in front of her mind's eye, but she could not make head or tail of it. It was like struggling to remember a dream, or trying to hold water in the cup of your hand. She thought she could feel the memories running through her fingers, even as she reached out to grasp at them.

What on Earth had happened to her?

She shivered and hugged herself - once more becoming aware of the uncomfortable feeling of the clammy nightgown on her skin. Suddenly, she heard raised voices quickly coming closer. Looking up, she warily watched as the door burst open and a small group of people entered. One of them was Liecia – but there were also two men and another woman, who was carrying a lantern and kept slightly to the back of the group.

Anne realised that one of the voices had belonged to Liecia, since she was still talking insistently to a stocky man with a shaggy mane of silver streaked red hair. He, too, wore an apron over his trousers, and his linen shirt was open at the collar, revealing more auburn hair. He had a towel slung over his shoulder and was eyeing Anne suspiciously.

"… honestly, Master Dockleaf, she is weak, in shock and not even properly _dressed_! Surely this can wait..."

"'Wait'! I think not! If she should in fact be … I will not have one of _them_ in my house!"

"Now, now, Dockleaf … More haste, less speed …" The second man said calmly, moving forward and further into the room.

He was a bit taller than the other one; strongly built and his unkempt, dark chestnut hair easily reached his shoulders, although, not as shaggy as that other agitated redhead. His worn clothes might have been a shade of dark green at some long ago point, but it was so faded, that one could only guess at its original colour.

Clearing his throat, he now sat down opposite Anne, on one of the chests lining the wall. His left hand rested on his knee - the right one he had placed lightly on his hip … no, she realised as she took a closer look, it was not on his hip but on the hilt of the _sword_ at his hip.

What on Earth was going on? It almost seemed like there were afraid of her – or at the least very cautious. But, that was ridiculous, what threat could she possibly be? Being scared out of her mind, not able to remember anything…or clear anything up for that matter. She desperately hoped they would not demand some sort of explanation that she could not give.

"We need you to tell us what happened. Why you have fled."

So much for that hope. Had she fled from somewhere? Should she try to play along? Pretend she knew what he was talking about? They obviously did not know very much about her … But no, that could only backfire, lead to even more mistrust on their part, and somehow she suspected that she was entirely at their mercy. She vaguely wondered what 'one of _them_' was supposed to mean. She swallowed.

"I … I don't know."

He frowned slightly. "What is it you don't know?"

Anne slowly shook her head, "Nothing. Anything … I do not know how I got here, or … or about fleeing. I do not know where I came from. Please..." She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice, and failed. "Where am I? What is this place?"

The dark haired man's eyes had narrowed at the beginning of her rambling, but now his face seemed to soften a little, while he watched her with an expression close to pity. Glancing up, Anne saw that sentiment mirrored in the faces of the others, although the man called Dockleaf still looked a tad suspicious. Still, she did not feel any better.

"You are in Carrockton," the man in front of her finally said, watching her closely as he spoke. "A town west of the Eryn Lasgalen. You are in the town's inn, The Rolling Barrel, the innkeeper is Master Dockleaf over there."

Anne glanced at Dockleaf, who murmured something that sounded like "_Must have been quite a blow…_"

"You came from Esgaroth, on the other side of the forest. They say you arrived here four days ago – barely conscious. With a fever already running high."

Anne felt her head spin, while she tried to process all this. She could not connect the names he had said with anything; although she had the odd feeling that she had heard them before – at least some of them.

"I was … on my own?" She finally managed to get out.

Both pity and discomfort was now clearly written on his face. It was Liecia though, who answered instead of him. Her voice was soft and full of sympathy.

"No. No, you were not on your own." She crouched down on the bed next to Anne and tentatively laid a hand on her arm.

"It was your brother who brought you here, Elena … Anne. But, his wound was so severe, he … he died the same night that you arrived here. Everyone thought it a miracle he made it this far ..."

"You can say that again," Dockleaf muttered. "Slid out of the saddle, like all strength had left him, the instant he reached the courtyard …"

Liecia shot him a glance and then looked back at Anne, her eyes softening.

"I am so sorry…"

Anne stared at her. Then she slowly turned her gaze to her hands in her lap. She was aware of the tensed silence in the room and frantically searched for some kind of emotion inside herself, but could not seem to find any. Nor could she think of something appropriate to say. What do you say when hearing of the death of a family member you do not even remember? She wished she could recall at least his name.

"Why was he wounded…?" Her voice sounded distant in her own ears. She vaguely wondered why she was even worrying about something like that, with everything else that should worry her. She looked up and noticed they were exchanging glances.

"We do not know," Liecia said at last. "We thought… it might have been on the same occasion you were hurt…"

"Me?" Anne asked bewildered.

"The back of your head. There was a wound like you slammed against something hard. We cleaned and treated it as best as we could, but there is probably still some blood in your hair…"

Anne reached up and tentatively touched the back of her head. The wound seemed to have closed and was healing, but it was a bit sore and there still was a slight bump. She felt panic rising inside of her. What was going on? She had arrived here with her brother, whom along with everything else she could not remember – after fleeing from their home, or so it appeared. On their way here, something had happened to them, resulting in him being injured so severely that he did not survive it. She racked her brain again, but it was no use. Before waking up here, in this room – everything was blank.

"I don't understand … I can't ..." She looked around at them helplessly. "I don't remember what happened. I don't even remember him – my brother…"

Not a brother … A sister

She paused, confused. That thought…Where had that come from?

The man in front of her looked at her attentively. "Have you remembered something?"

She slowly shook her head. "No…no, I don't think so…"

He sighed. "Well, trying to rush it will probably do no good. I am afraid the head injury is the cause of your memory loss. If that is indeed the case, your memories might return, but you will have to give it time," he looked over to Dockleaf. "You do not have to worry, I am certain she is still herself...whoever that might be."

The man gave her a faint smile, and Anne briefly wondered whether this was the weak attempt of a joke, but tried to return the smile nonetheless. He rose. "Besides, all of them – those we have encountered so far, were males."

"Yes, yes…" Dockleaf muttered. "Better to be on the safe side though, isn't it? If you say, she shows no sign of ..."

"She doesn't. I understand why you were worried though, these are strange times, and most people are not cautious enough."

Dockleaf turned to Anne. "My apologies, young lady. Indeed, this house used to be more hospitable, but surely you understand – nowadays one has to be careful."

"Oh, that… that is quite alright," Anne stuttered, not understanding anything. "It seems you have been very hospitable towards me already. Thank you for … um – everything."

"Ah, naturally, naturally … after all we promised your brother and everything … well, you should rest now, or … ah – take a bath if you like..."

The look he gave her appearance, wrecked all hope that she might not look as bad as she had feared. Both men bowed slightly in her direction and left the room. Liecia scrutinised Anne.

"You really should take a bath, if you don't feel too weak. This bed needs fresh sheets, and that nightdress could do with some washing too. Nesta, would you take her...?"

"Of course," The other woman beckoned Anne over. "Come with me, it is not far."

Anne nodded and followed her out the door and onto a dark landing. There, they turned right and followed the corridor which ended at a door. Nesta opened it, gesturing for Anne to follow her, went inside ahead, and started lighting several lanterns. The room was L-shaped, with high windows and a tiled floor of fired clay. The floor was sloping down slightly towards one corner, where Anne could see a low opening in the wall, just above the ground, and assumed that it was to drain the water. There were two wooden tubs in the room, as well as a little wood burning stove, and several large kettles and pots. Nesta opened the hatch in the stove and began busying herself with lighting a fire.

"While I heat the water, you can wash up. To scour the tubs is hard work, therefore it's better to get as clean as possible before using them. Take one of the stools over there, so you do not have to stand. Soap and cloths are on the shelf to your right."

Anne felt a bit self conscious undressing in front of the strange woman. But her longing to feel clean was stronger than her embarrassment. She took one of the little stools that were stacked in a corner, placed it as securely as she could on the sloping ground, and took of the nightgown. After she had helped herself to a crumby piece of soap and a cloth, she realised that she had no water. Unsure what to do, she turned to Nesta, who was still poking at the fire.

"Um…the water..."

"Over there," Nesta said, indicating the kettles. "Take one of the smaller ones."

Anne took the smallest pot which was still heavy enough, sat down on the stool and started cleaning herself as best as she could. She watched in awe as Nesta heaved one of the big kettles onto the stove. The woman did not look much stronger than she was.

When the water appeared to be warm enough, Nesta lifted the kettle from the fire and poured the water into the tub, and told Anne that she could get in now, politely keeping her gaze averted. Even while Anne carefully stepped into the tub, Nesta put a second kettle on the stove. This one was smaller, so that after the water was heated, she could slowly pour it over Anne, who sat with her legs tucked up and tried to wash her hair.

After they were finished, Nesta left Anne alone to dry herself, but returned soon with a fresh nightdress for her. She helped Anne, who felt a bit wobbly by now, to pull it over her head. When Anne asked whether she should help to empty the tub, Nesta smiled for the first time, but shook her head. She was actually very pretty with her fair, slightly freckled skin and dark hair. She explained to Anne that Odo, the male servant at the Rolling Barrel was responsible for emptying the tubs and making sure that the kettles and pots were always filled.

**:::**

When they came back to the bedchamber, Anne saw that Liecia had put fresh linen on 'her' bed and opened a window, which she had not noticed before. It smelled a lot more pleasant now, of fresh air and blooming fields. After settling down on the bed, she looked up to Nesta, who was rummaging in a chest, eventually producing a woollen blanket, and put it on the foot of Anne's bed.

"Here, in case you should get cold. I doubt you will though, it is a warm night."

"Thank you. Not just for the blanket I mean, but…for everything else."

"Oh, do not worry about it."

"No, really…everyone is so kind and..." Anne made a helpless gesture, "…letting me stay here, taking care of me…"

Nesta looked at her bemused, sitting down on one of the other beds. "Don't be silly, what else could we have done? You were alone, and sick, and now it seems that you do not have anywhere else to go. You shall stay here, at least for now."

Anne nodded, feeling a bit sheepish. "May I…may I ask something?"

Nesta smiled blandly. "Go ahead."

"The man from before...the dark haired one. Who was he? I felt a bit like he was interrogating me…"

"He is a Ranger from Eriador. It is said that they live scattered in small communities in the West, sometimes patrolling the lands – keeping them safe, or so I have heard. They are not often seen on this side of the mountains, but the one you met is an acquaintance of Master Dockleaf. I believe his name is Nardil."

Anne nodded slowly. Though, the name Eriador seemed familiar somehow, none of the information triggered any memories. "What did he mean when he said that…" She tried to recall his exact words. "That I was 'still myself'?"

Nesta looked slightly uneasy. "Ah, that is…but of course, if you don't remember anything else, you would not remember that either. It is…" She paused as if searching for the right words.

"What?" Anne asked, an ominous feeling creeping over her.

"It…it feels odd, explaining it to someone. For a while now, things have...changed. The land is not as safe as it used to be. Thirty years – even ten years back, it was a very different situation. But now…it is almost as if things are returning back to the way they were at the time of the great war…and that was more than forty years ago. Of course, I was not even born at that time, it is what the elderly people say. Raids on villages and smaller towns…travellers are mugged, merchants intercepted, people disappear…

"Some say, the source of it all lies in the black land – like so many decades ago. Others say it all comes from Rhun, in the northeast…but that is probably just the gossip of busybodies, if you ask me. Although, we feel the effects, Carrockton has been mostly spared so far. For one thing it is shielded by the great forest; the folk of the Woodland realm still protects their borders, but only to some extent."

Anne was trying to keep track. This was a little overwhelming, to say the least. How could she not remember at least something like this? Something so…big.

"I understand…" She slowly said, not sure she truly did. "So, Master Dockleaf and that er...that Ranger thought that I was one of those …bandits, who are wandering about and attacking people?"

"No, no…" Nesta replied, hugging herself and rubbing her upper arms. "That is not what they thought. You see, apart from the Woodland folk, no one used to live in the forest. But now, there are those … other people.

Anne stared at her. Something about the way Nesta said 'people' caused her to feel like a cold wind had just blown through the window.

"What people?"

Nesta took a slow breath through the nose, keeping her eyes firmly on Anne's.

"The altered ones."

**III III III**

**:::**


	4. Orientation

**:::**

**III III III**

A frown formed on Anne's face as she stared at Nesta.

"'Altered' - what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that they are different," Nesta replied in a calm voice. "That they have changed."

"Changed how?"

"It is … difficult to say," Nesta made a vague gesture with her hand. "They keep to themselves. From what we know, or have heard, they seem to live in secluded places, and usually stay away from towns and villages. People, who have encountered them, don't seem to be able to describe them any other way than … _different_.

"I believe they could not be directly linked to any of the raids or attacks, but there are rumours … In most cases there are simply no witnesses, but it is said that … that some of those...things could not have been done by _normal_ people."

Anne shuddered involuntarily. "But...but they _are_ humans, aren't they?"

"Some of them are," Nesta said evasively.

"What..." Anne began, but was interrupted by a knock on the door, and someone in the hallway calling Nesta's name. The woman rose, giving Anne an apologetic look.

"I have to work – please try to rest and not to worry too much now… Forgive me, I should not have burdened you with this so soon."

With that, she left the room; Anne could hear her exchange a few muttered words with someone outside in the hallway, then fainter growing footfalls, until it was quiet once more.

_Try not to worry_… 'Oh, yes, that was probable,' Anne thought. It was more likely that she would not close her eyes ever again without seeing horribly distorted creatures, only barely resembling human beings. A part of her still did not want to accept what was going on around her – another part was almost thankful that she did not remember what had happened to her before. Perhaps, she and her brother (it still felt very odd to think about him, without even knowing his name or face) _had_ been attacked. Knowing what she knew now, it was not too farfetched.

He… her brother, had been killed, she recalled. Had been hurt by someone, or something so severely, that he did not survive it. Maybe it _was_ bliss, not to know.

No, she decided after thinking it over for a few moments. Whatever horrors she faced before coming here, and having no memories of people she certainly must have loved – that was no bliss. Had her home been attacked? That town, they had mentioned, Esgaroth, where she was supposed to come from. Had one of those raids taken place there? Had maybe she and her brother only just escaped, and that was where he had been wounded?

While lowering herself onto the freshly made bed, she wondered how far away Esgaroth was. 'I have to ask Liecia or Nesta,' she thought, even as she felt her mind growing comfortably drowsy the moment her head touched the pillow. Within a few seconds, she had fallen asleep.

**:::**

**III III III**

**:::**

Under the canopy of leaves, the night air was pleasantly cool, rich with the countless scents of a forest in early summer. His senses, painfully sharpened beyond their usual extent, allowed him to almost _feel _the trees' outer bark parch and crumble. The night breeze brought no relief for him;his skin seemed to burn, his breathing was ragged and he could feel dizziness along with the ever-hovering darkness threatening to overcome him, as he knelt on the forest floor, pressing his hands into the dry earth.

He would not let it win, not yet.

He knew, if he just waited, endured it, that it would pass – as it always did. He had not yet lost the strength to resist. He would not give in, not yet.

Despite everything, it was a strangely comforting thought that at some point he would loose to the growing darkness, and become one with it. Then it would all be gone. It would all be over.

No pain, no guilt, no fear, no choices…

The darkness seemed to become overpowering and, for a moment he could feel the edge of nothingness touching him, caressing his worn down senses. His breathing became jerky, the muscles and sinews in his forearms tensed convulsively. Then it was over, and he did not wonder how he had made it stop, or whether that command even lay in his power. His breath became slower and deeper, as he let his head sink still lower, shutting his eyes; his hair fell forward and curtained his face.

**:::**

**III III III**

**:::**

Anne was woken by a horrible shrieking noise, and after a few seconds of disorientation, she recognised it as the same sound she had heard the night before. Of course, she had not thought about it, after everything that had been going on.

Looking about her in the room, she saw that Nesta and Liecia seemed to have already risen, but obviously had decided to let her rest a little longer. It could not have been very late in the morning. Soft, pale-gold morning sunlight fell through the window with its many little rhombus shaped panes, and cast a grid-like shadow on the smooth floorboards.

Anne started wondering whether it would be considered inappropriate if she left the chamber wearing nothing but her nightgown if only to search for the lavatory, when the door opened and Nesta poked her head in.

"Ah, you are awake," she said. "I was just about to rouse you; I brought you something to wear, and then you should have a little breakfast. Are you hungry?"

Anne realised that she was. "Yes, I am indeed. Thank you."

Nesta gave her a smile, which Anne returned, acknowledging that the other woman was not about to address what they had spoken about the night before. Nesta crossed the room and placed a bundle of folded cloth on the foot of the bed.

"Here. You can borrow a pair of my shoes for now. Liecia's would not fit you, she has feet like a children's doll." She indicated a place next to the door, where several pairs of shoes were lined up.

"Thank you…did I not bring any shoes with me?" Anne found that hard to believe.

"Yes, you did, but they are terribly filthy, covered in mud and other things. I suppose you can wash them, they will take a couple of days to dry though. I have to start preparing the midday meal now, but you can just come down, once you are dressed."

She left the room and Anne took a closer look at the clothes. Unfolded, the reddish brown bundle turned out to be a button through dress, similar to the ones she had seen on both Liecia and Nesta. Discretely wrapped inside of the dress, Anne found two more garments, both white.

One of them was a sleeveless chemise made of a strong fabric, with wide shoulder straps. It was not too tight, so Anne could easily pull it over her head. There was a lacing in the front, to support and adjust it to the wearer's body. The other one seemed to be long underpants of sorts, reaching just below Anne's knees and falling loosely. The dress fitted rather well, both in length and around the torso, and Anne expected it to be Nesta's as well.

After buttoning it up, Anne made for the door, but stopped short at the sight of a small mirror hanging on the wall between two of the chests. For a few seconds she only stared at the oval of polished metal, then gave herself a mental kick and slowly approached it. She was not sure what she had expected or feared. Not to recognise herself? Having the face of a stranger stare back at her?

However, the pale, slightly olive skinned woman with the unruly brown hair was no stranger to her. She knew those green-brown eyes under the dark brows – recognised her nose, her lips. Maybe a bit peakier looking and hollow cheeked than normally. Nevertheless, she knew that this was her, that this had always been her.

Was that not a small comfort? At least there was no big shock or extremely unpleasant revelations here. Although those deathbed-circles under her eyes – well, a little sun and air should help with that. With a sigh she turned away from the mirror and towards the door.

Once out in the dimly lit landing, she turned to the steep stairs on her left, and carefully made her way downstairs. As she did so, she noticed that she was already feeling a lot stronger than she had after waking up the evening before. She also noticed the scent of freshly baked bread and something that might be grounded poppy seeds. Obviously, there were some things she had not forgotten - this made her spirits rise.

She reached the foot of the stairs and followed a narrow, short corridor, which ended in front of a wall with a closed door on the left. To her right, there was a passage in the wall. She stepped through it and into a large room, that was clearly the kitchen.

The walls were lined with shelves containing numerous bins, boxes and vessels of different sizes and shapes. Several boards were laden with tin plates and cups. A long wooden table stood in the centre of the room, heavy iron pans and pots were hanging from the ceiling above it. A second passage on the opposite side of the kitchen seemed to be leading behind a counter.

Nesta stood at a stove in one corner, talking to a young man who was dressed like a stableman. Anne wondered if that was Odo. She did not want to interrupt them, so she crossed the room and stepped through a door that was ajar, hoping that she would not accidentally walk into someone's private chamber.

Instead, she found herself in a deserted parlour. Several round low tables and comfortable looking chairs were scattered in the room, and on one side was a huge fireplace. Sunlight was streaming through the high, slightly dusty windows, and a faint smell of pipe smoke hung in the air. A threadbare rug covered the wooden floor.

Anne made her way to another half open door. This seemed to be the main taproom. A long counter was on the right side, and the walls were lined with tables and low benches. This room too, was empty – except from Nardil who sat at a corner table, a steaming cup and a small tin in front of him. He was busy rubbing something that looked like a tangle of leather straps with a dirty rag.

Anne spotted Liecia at the far end of the room, wiping tables. She approached her hesitantly.

Liecia looked up at the sound of Anne's steps, and her face split into a grin.

"Good morning! It is nice to see you up and about. Are you feeling better?"

Anne nodded, smiling in return. "Yes, a lot better in fact."

"Good, good. Sit down, I will go and fetch you something to eat."

Waving away Anne's bashful protest, she jauntily walked around the counter and vanished in the kitchen. During the few minutes she was gone, Anne glanced at Nardil again. He looked up, as if feeling her eyes on him, and nodded by way of greeting. Anne could see now that the thing he was rubbing seemed to be a bridle and reins of a horse. Liecia returned with a tray, containing a plate with deliciously smelling bread, a small milk jar, a bowl with porridge and a little cup filled with creamy, golden yellow butter. Anne suddenly found that she was very hungry indeed.

"Thank you very much," she said to Liecia. "But...er…" with a further glance towards the corner where Nardil was sitting, she lowered her voice. "Would you mind showing me the er…the latrines first…?"

Out of fear that Nardil might overhear her, Anne had only whispered the last words. Liecia, obviously amused by the fuss, giggled and motioned for Anne to follow her. They went back through the kitchen, into the narrow corridor and took the door on the left side that Anne had noticed before. It led into a paved courtyard, bounded on the left by a wooden building. From inside, stamping of hooves and the occasional snort could be heard.

They went around it and Liecia showed Anne the small hut with the pit latrine. Anne's instant thought was that this might actually be an experience well worth forgetting. They were about to head back inside when Anne remembered something else.

"This morning I heard a very odd noise, an awfully loud shriek. I also believe that I heard the same thing last night…"

Liecia looked puzzled for a moment, and then laughed. "Come, I will show you." She said still laughing and led the way around the next corner of the main building. After turning, Anne paused surprised. Directly attached to the wall of the Inn was an enclosure made of poles and coarse meshed nets, and inside - picking on the sandy ground, or perched on logs and heaps of straw, were the ugliest birds one could imagine. They resembled vultures as well as turkeys, with dirty brown feathers and very large red throat pouches.

Liecia saw the expression on Anne's face and grinned. "Bogskirls - they are in fact very useful. Their meat tastes delicious, their feathers are very soft and used for bedding, and from those pouches all sorts of things can be made – water sacks..."

"Yes, I see your point," Anne said hurriedly, very much hoping that she would not find herself in a situation where she had to use one of those 'water sacks' any time soon. She gave Liecia a half-hearted grin before peering into the enclosure again, where a Bogskirl was eyeing her suspiciously while emitting low clucking noises.

"You forgot the eggs, though."

"Oh no, those are scarcely used. Bogskirls seldom lay eggs, and they are deemed to be an effective remedy for all sorts of diseases, and therefore expensive. People also believe them to be a powerful aphrodisiac."

Anne stared at her incredulously, which caused Liecia to start laughing again, "The eggs of those brayers?"

"I know. Their voices are not the most pleasant thing to wake up to. But one gets used to it." Liecia said grinning, as they turned around and slowly walked back to the courtyard.

"Well, at least that solves _one_ riddle…" Anne muttered.

Liecia's face became serious all of a sudden. "Anne…once you have eaten, there is something I must show you. Or rather, return to you."

"Return to me?" Anne asked frowning.

"Yes…when you...when you arrived here, you did not carry much with you, since you had only one horse. But, there is a little: one saddlebag that seems to contain merely clothes. We did not go through it, but there were also a few things you had on you. We were not sure whether to…but they are yours and who can say if they might not help you remember?"

Liecia looked like she tried to smile encouragingly. Anne felt torn. On the one hand, this blankness was terrifying and she wanted to know what had happened, who she was , and finally being able to hold some pieces of her past in her hands. How could she live without memories?

Yet, on the other hand…

While desperately wishing to remember, at the same time she felt another feeling building up inside of her. The feeling that perhaps, the cause of it was not a head injury at all – that maybe her memories were blocked for a reason. She did not know whether this was an irrational fear, or whether it was based on some actual subconscious knowledge. However, she could not help thinking that maybe there were things that were better left forgotten.

**III III III**

**:::**


	5. Bits and Pieces

[As always, Thanks to my wonderful Beta Lady Demiya =)]

**:::**

**III III III**

As promised, Liecia accompanied Anne back to the maidservants' quarters after she had finished her breakfast. There, she opened one of the large chests and carefully pulled out two square leather bags attached to one another with straps, as well as a much smaller package wrapped roughly in a piece of linen cloth.

"These are the saddlebags that still were on you horse," Liecia said. "Here, take them, they are not very heavy. We thought that they might contain clothes or the likes - so no one opened them."

She gave Anne a light smile; Anne could not quite manage one in turn, though.

"You can open them later if you would rather be alone for that," Liecia said in a low voice. "This however…" She handed the smaller package to Anne, who took it cautiously, suddenly feeling very apprehensive. "It was in a pocket of the clothes you were wearing when you arrived here." Liecia explained. "I shall leave you to it now; I have some work to do anyhow."

Anne nodded at her gratefully, glad at the unspoken offer. She had not been too thrilled by the thought of having to deal with these only remnants of her past, while being watched by someone she barely knew – no matter how kind they were being about it.

"Uhm, thank you." She said awkwardly. Liecia smiled, touched her arm briefly and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Anne sat down on her bed, putting down the cloth-wrapped bundle on the blanket next to her, and began opening the buckles on the saddlebags.

In them, as Liecia had suspected, she found a variety of garments and under shifts and even stockings, as well as two capes; one was thin and finely woven, and the other looked a lot warmer and was lined with some kind of fur. The last two could have been travelling clothes. Whilst the robes and dresses were almost exclusively made of thin, sensitive looking material, and seemed rather unfit for a long journey. 'Almost like someone threw them together randomly, or at least, in a considerable hurry,' Anne thought, while letting her hand glide over the fine texture.

Who was this woman, she felt less and less connected to? What was she running from?

A Bogskirl screeched outside, making Anne snap out of her thoughts. She put the saddlebags with the clothes aside and turned her attention, somewhat reluctantly, to the small package. It was very light, like it was just a piece of folded linen. Slowly she unwrapped it, feeling her pulse quicken a little. To her disappointment, however, inside the cloth she found nothing but a piece of folded paper. It was thick and yellowish. Unfolding it, she saw that it was handwritten and looked like it had been torn in half.

_~:~:~_

_ys already, and Elias_

He does not deem us

_g. Maybe I do deserve_

_Yet I am selfish and_

_here with someone_

_his side. I think I_

I am weak, barely

_write this down,_

_it, Someone_

_e, who will face_

_happened and_

_re will come to_

_some broth, but_

_g down anything._

_~:~:~_

Anne read it several times, and then slowly let her hands sink into her lap. 'This is no help at all', she thought frustrated. The words did not make any sense to her; they did not seem familiar or trigger any memories whatsoever. Now that she thought about it, she could not even be sure, that she had been the one writing this. Perhaps it was a letter she had received, or something her brother had written. Somehow, she did not believe that to be the case, though. From what she could make of the disjointed words and half sentences, it seemed like nothing someone would write in a letter. It was more like a journal entry.

Even so… Without the rest of the page - sitting here and brooding over this was no use. She stared at the handwriting - Slender, black and anonymous. Her eyes wandered back to the first line. _Elias._ Was that him, her brother, she wondered. Or, was it someone else entirely. Someone who did not have any part in this. Was it even a person's name, or rather a place?

With a resigned sigh, Anne folded the paper back together and, after hesitating for a moment, carefully put it in one of the little side pockets on the saddlebags. Even if it was useless, throwing it away somehow seemed wrong.

Anne stood, took the bags and laid them onto the lid of the nearest chest; then reached to pick up the piece of linen cloth in which the torn paper had been wrapped. As she lifted it, something small and glittering fell out of its folds. Curious, she bent and picked it up. It was a silver pendant on a thin chain. Anne looked at it closer. The pendant had the shape of a leaf, with very sharply jagged edges. The chain was broken. There was a knock on the door suddenly, and Anne straightening up, stuffing the pendant into her skirt pocket.

It was Nesta who entered, asking whether Anne would like to eat some lunch with her and the other servants. Anne smiled and agreed, deciding that it was no use to brood by herself. 'Nardil is probably right,' she thought, while following Nesta downstairs and into the kitchen. 'I will just have to give it time.'

**:::**

**III III III**

**:::**

During the next couple of days, Anne filled her waking hours by trying to 'take her mind of things' so to speak, and also to make herself as useful as possible at _The Rolling Barrel_. She helped Nesta and Liecia with their chores, and even offered to assist Odo in the stables, which he rejected firmly - and slightly appalled. Keeping herself busy, she found that she could achieve, if not inner peace, than at least a sort of patient resignation concerning her situation.

One late afternoon - a little over a week after Anne had first woken up from her unconsciousness, she left the safe borders of the Inn for the first time when Nesta took her along to do some laundry. Both carrying large baskets with sheets and clothes, they left the _Barrel_ using the side entrance, crossed the courtyard, and went through an archway that led them directly into the high street of the town.

The few people they came across greeted Nesta smiling, but gave Anne slightly odd looks; Anne tried to ignore it. She could only imagine that everyone here already knew about her strange story. Considering what Nesta had told her, people had probably a good reason not to be too trustful. After a few minutes, Anne could see that the street was leading to a town square. They did not go there, but turned a corner, and left the street down a narrow lane, which was bordered on both sides by back walls of houses and high fences. Nesta explained to Anne that this was a shortcut to get to the edge of the forest.

"The forest?" Anne asked surprised. "Aren't we going to use the well in the town square?" she was rather sure that she had seen one there.

"Oh no, that is a drinking water fountain," Nesta said. "For washing of clothes and such, we use a small pond about half a mile from town."

They stepped past the last building, went through an open gate, and out of the shadowy lane into the warmth of the bright sunlight. Anne could now see the forest clearly. Gently sloping hills in varying shades of green and bluish grey, forming an uneven horizon. From what she could tell, it stretched for hundreds of miles in all directions.

They followed a steeping path, cutting through a meadow of tall grass that was punctuated by groves of oak trees here and there. The air was filled with the scent of blooming grass and flowers, and the lazy buzz of bees or crickets. Anne felt decidedly warm now - her hands clutching the handles of the laundry basket were rather sweaty, and she was a bit relieved when they reached the outskirts of the forest. They did not go too deep; after a couple of minutes they came to a small clearing with a pond in its centre.

Washing the clothes by hand was exhausting work, and Anne was rather thankful that they had not much with them. Nesta had brought Anne's shoes, and she soaked them several times, trying to get them as clean as possible. About an hour later, when they gathered up their things and were making their way back, Anne realised that they were even less deep in the woods than she had thought. She could still see patches of sunlit field between the tree trunks on her left. When she let her gaze wander to the right, where the trees stood closer and the light was a lot dimmer, she saw something out of the corner of her eye that made her do a double take and almost drop her basket. Perhaps forty – fifty yards away, barely visible in the forest gloom, there were people standing amongst the trees. Anne's heart skipped a beat. Four, five, maybe six tall figures stood completely motionless in the twilight; all facing the path and, although they were too far away to make out their faces – they were clearly staring at the two women. Unable to take her eyes away from the eerie sight, she staggered in her hurry to catch up with Nesta, who was a few steps ahead of her.

"Nesta, there..."

"I know," Nesta said in a clipped voice. "Keep walking."

"But..."

"_Keep walking_."

Anne obeyed; with her heart hammering, and fighting the urge to look back. She followed Nesta, who walked with brisk steps, along the path. When they had left the last trees behind and were back in the meadow and the sunlight, Nesta started to run with Anne close at her heels. They did not stop until they reached the gate that lead back to the narrow alley and into the town. Only then, Nesta paused, lowered her basket to the ground and both women leaned against the gate for a few moments, catching their breath.

"Who…" Anne panted, until she finally felt like she could speak again. "Who were..."

But Nesta shook her head, still looking tense. "Come on," she said, bending to pick up the laundry basket. "We have to get back."

**:::**

Nesta and Anne arrived back at the Inn's courtyard and had almost reached the entrance when the door of the stables opened and Odo emerged, pushing a wheelbarrow full of dirty straw. Nesta called out to him.

"Odo! Where is Master Dockleaf?"

Odo wiped a few wisps of sweaty, blond hair out of his face, looking slightly startled. "Is something amiss? You look like..."

"Where _is_ he, Odo?"

"In the parlour, I think," Odo stammered, obviously taken aback by the urgency in Nesta's voice. "The mayor came by, and..."

Nesta did not wait for him to finish, but hastened towards the door. Anne gave the young man an apologetic look, and followed her inside. In the parlour, at one of the round tables they found Dockleaf deep in conversation with Nardil and a grey-haired man with dark, piercing eyes. They had large jugs in front of them, and Nardil was smoking a pipe. All three looked up, when Nesta and Anne entered.

"Forgive us the interruption, sirs," Nesta said, still slightly panting, "But I am afraid, this can not wait. We just saw a few of _them_."

The men looked at her alarmed, and Nardil slowly let his pipe sink; it was obvious that all of them knew immediately, what the maidservant was talking about. There was a sharp intake of breath behind them. Anne turned and saw Liecia standing in the doorway, shock clearly on her face.

"Where?" Dockleaf demanded finally.

"Near the washing pond - We were on our way back…"

"How many of them were there?" Nardil asked.

"I think I counted five or six," Nesta said uncertain, throwing Anne a glance, who nodded. "Of course, we did not linger."

"Of course…," Nardil muttered. "They did not do anything? Did not follow you?"

Both women shook their heads.

"It seemed as if they were watching us," Nesta said slowly. "They did not come any nearer, they just stood there and looked at us."

"Very well, and we shall not be waiting until they try anything else," the grey-haired man said now outraged. "We must act now!"

"And what would you have us do, Rathar?" Dockleaf growled. "They are probably well away by now, and we do not exactly have an armed division on demand. Should we set Odo, Terric and young Forwin on their trail? No. No, I fear we have no choice but to ask for help. We need to send word to the Woodland King."

"Thranduil has no interest in Carrockton," Rathar said dismissively. "If the Altered dare coming this close to the village, it would seem he is not even able to guard his own borders anymore. We have been relying on the protection of the Elves for too long already. I say we warn the people, tell them to send their wives or children to Rohan if it makes them feel safer…"

"Rohan?" Dockleaf looked at him incredulously. "That is some five hundred odd miles. Even in the best case it would take more than two weeks!"

"The small group that left for Rohan at the beginning of March arrived safely, if you recall, Dockleaf."

"Yes, Rathar, I do indeed, but that was months ago!"

Nardil began to speak again, in a calm but firm voice. "I agree with Dockleaf. Sending a messenger to Thranduil is probably your best option. What you say, Mayor is also right – you need to warn the people, though you might want to proceed cautiously, if not to create panic."

"With due respect, Master Ranger," Rathar retorted. "I am aware that your people are friendly with the Elfish folk. But they never sought close friendship with us here in Carrockton, nor did we with them – though you could call us close neighbours. Send someone to them, by all means, in case anyone is in fact foolish enough to go there. If you will excuse me now, sirs, I have a few people I need to speak to."

With that, he stood, nodded curtly at Nardil and Dockleaf, and bowed slightly in the direction of the women, before leaving the room. Dockleaf stared after him, frowning. "The man is too damn jumped-up for his own good…"

Nardil sucked pensively at his pipe. "This is serious indeed," he said at last. "If you can not find someone who is willing to ride to the Elves, I will go myself; Thranduil needs to know about this. Otherwise, I shall still be continuing on, on the morrow. In the event that someone from Rivendell arrives here, I shall give you a message for them..."

"Come on," Liecia muttered, taking Anne's arm and pulled her out the door and back into the kitchen. Nesta followed, closing the door behind them. Liecia turned around to face the other two.

"Oh dear… So, at last it is happening here as well. Are you two all right?"

"Yes," Nesta replied, "As I said, they did not try to harm us. I suppose it was only a matter of time – Mr Rathar is right in a way, is he not? We _have_ been relying on King Thranduil to guard the borders."

"I do not understand," Anne said slowly. "This Woodland King – Thranduil, and his folk, why do you think they stopped protecting their realm?"

Liecia shrugged. "Perhaps they have simply retreated further into the north. One way or another, Elves… I mean, who knows how their minds work."

Anne remained silent. She had heard people mention Elves randomly on several occasions, and still did not really know how to picture them.

"It is no use worrying ourselves," Liecia said now. "Remember that we are still safe here – Carrockton has not been involved so far, and there is no reason why that should change overnight."

How prophetic these words would turn out to be, would become apparent very soon, in the early hours of the next morning, when Anne was woken up by someone shaking her not too gently.

**III III III**

**:::**


	6. Breakup

[As always – my sincerest thanks to Lady Demiya for correcting all my misspellings and punctuation mistakes :-] … And on with it!]

**:::**

III III III

It took Anne several minutes to realise that somebody was actually shaking her and that the voice urgently calling her name was not just an element of a dream. Fluttering her eyes open, slowly she rose, coming to rest on her elbows. Liecia's face seemed to be hovering over her in the dark room, looking tense in the flickering light of the candle she was holding.

Apart from the small pool of candle light, the room was pitch black.

"Quickly, get dressed!" Liecia told Anne, in a firm voice.

"What… what is it?" Anne mumbled, her voice still thick from sleep, while she was trying to shake of the drowsiness.

"Something has happened… Hurry, you have to come down with me."

Anne struggled to get into a dress and shoes, and then she staggered after Liecia out of the room and onto the dark landing.

"What happened?" she wanted to know, while following the other woman down the flight of stairs.

"I am not sure. Saer, the Blacksmith's apprentice, came here… He said, he heard screams and crashing noises from the house of the Ashgroves. Fortunately, Master Dockleaf and the Ranger were still awake…"

"I did not hear anything…" Anne said confused, as they crossed the dark kitchen. The only light came from the still glowing remnants of the fire in the hearth.

"Neither did I," Liecia replied. "But, I think Nesta woke up when Saer banged on the front door. She saw them and Odo leave."

Both women entered the taproom through the doorway behind the counter. Nesta and three other women were huddled together at one of the tables, looking very anxious. One of them, who had a long honey coloured braid down her back carried a small child in her arms wrapped in a blanket. The child did not look older than two or three years. The other two strangers were both red haired and looked very much like they might be mother and daughter. Liecia and Anne joined them, and Anne learnt that the women lived in houses close by. Apparently, Odo had knocked on their doors, asking their husbands to accompany him to the house of the Ashgroves, in case Dockleaf and Nardil might need help.

The atmosphere was gloomy and nobody spoke much, except for wondering aloud what was happening, and whether the men would come back soon. About twenty minutes later, there was the sound of heavy steps outside, which made them all look up and towards the main entrance. Only now, Anne saw that the heavy oak door was bolted shut. Seconds later Dockleaf's muffled voice could be heard.

"Careful now… Open up, it's us!"

He shouted the last part, but Nesta had already gotten up and was now hurriedly pulling back the deadbolts. A group of five or six people stood in front of the door. They now hurriedly entered the Inn with Dockleaf and Nardil leading the way, carrying a third person, seemingly unconscious. When the light of candles in the room hit his face, Anne gasped involuntarily. The man's left temple, his eye and his cheek were a mess of bruises and lacerations, and his collar and most of his tunic were soaked in blood.

Right behind Nardil, Odo appeared in the doorway; half supporting a woman who was wrapped in a large cloak that Anne recognised as the Ranger's. The woman was very pale but looked unharmed, except for a small cut across her cheekbone - the thin red line stood out in sharp contrast to her almost colourless skin. Liecia was at her side immediately, putting one arm around the narrow shoulders.

"Idonea! Oh dear, what in the world happened? Are you…"

But the woman just shook her head mutely, not taking her dark eyes from the man who was now carried by Nardil and Dockleaf towards the door at the far end of the room - the one that lead to the parlour.

"Let us get him in here…" Nardil said. "Nesta, would you please go and fetch clean linen, hot water and some salt… honey too, if you have any."

"Of course." Nesta, who had been bolting the door again after the men entered, nodded and disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen.

The pale woman, whom Liecia had called Idonea, followed the two men carrying the wounded man into the next room. Liecia tried to hold her back, but the other woman simply shook off her hands. Odo came over to them, looking after the woman with a worried expression on his face - then he turned to Liecia, speaking to her in a low voice.

"Her clothes are torn… that is why the Ranger gave her his cloak. Would you mind to…? I mean, could you…?"

Liecia's eyes widened. "Certainly, I will get her something to wear. Although I doubt that she will leave Herlewin's side any time soon." With that, she quickly left the room.

Feeling a little useless in all the chaos, Anne asked Odo whether there was anything she could do to help, but he only shrugged - there really was not much to be done right now. Nesta returned with the supplies Nardil had told her to bring, and went straight into the parlour. Not long after that, Dockleaf reappeared in the doorway and walked up to one of the other two men, who had been waiting in the taproom, near the door.

"Gamel! Come on, we have to go and tell Rathar. Osbert, bolt that door behind us, you never know whether this scum might come back after all."

He and Gamel left the Inn and the other man bolted the door. Odo went into the parlour - Anne assumed that he would offer his help with the injured one. She wished there was something she could do too, to keep her mind off shadowy figures that might be creeping up to the house right at this moment. Soon, Liecia returned from upstairs and the five women started quizzing the man called Osbert about what had happened at the Ashgrove house.

"Who did this to him?" the woman with the baby was looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. "When Mr Dockleaf said, they might come back – did he mean…?"

"They were already gone when we arrived," Osbert said, shaking his head. "I don't think Dockleaf and the Ranger saw them either. We only found Herlewin lying on the floor, Idonea kneeling next to him. The room lay in ruins…"

"They did not hurt her?" Liecia asked anxiously, and Anne felt like a cold hand was squeezing her entrails.

"Did she say…?"

"No… she did not say anything, but it did not seem so…" the man muttered, looking uncomfortable. "It rather looked like they er… assaulted her first, and when Herlewin tried to protect his wife they attacked him."

"They could have violated her," the younger one of the redheads whispered dismayed. "Are you sure…?"

"We can not be sure of anything, she probably would not tell us either way. All we know is that they left before we got there… Maybe they heard us coming."

At this point, he was interrupted by the return of the landlord, who was accompanied by the Mayor, Gamel and two younger men, who apparently had been alarmed by the clamours. Anne noticed that the Mayor, understandably enough, looked a lot more outraged than the previous afternoon. She doubted that there would be any way of talking him out of his evacuation plan, anymore. Sure enough, the discussion turned to that topic very soon. Dockleaf kept insisting that a headless flight from the town would be a much greater risk.

"We do not have enough men to escort them," Dockleaf tried to reason. "Women and small children travelling through unsafe territory… A venture like this is reckless without the necessary precaution! What about the people who do no wish to leave? Those who are too old or too young for such a journey. We have to make sure that enough men remain here, who are able to defend the town."

"I hope, you are not suggesting that I would endanger the townspeople by acting negligently, Dockleaf. Have not this night's events made it clear that even in our own houses there is no safety!"

The argument went on for some time, until the door to the parlour opened again and Nardil appeared, followed by Nesta and Odo. Both men looked very serious - Nesta's gaze was fixed on her hands she was wiping on her bloodstained apron.

"How is he?" Dockleaf demanded.

"He regained consciousness and it looks not as bad as we thought at first. What worries me most is the stab wound at his side… If it does not get infected, he should recover…" Nardil paused before continuing in a dark voice.

"It _was_ them. Ashgrove says there were four - two or three of them were Men."

"The rest…?"

"One Elf - He did not get a proper look at the fourth," Nardil shook his head. "It does not matter if you ask me. Those… people are not Men or Elves anymore. What matters is that… whatever it was that held them back until now, you must not rely on it anymore."

**:::**

The next day passed in a rush of activity. It had been decided that Nardil and a group of men from Carrockton would escort those who wanted to leave for Rohan the following day. Liecia was one of them, and so was the young read haired woman who had been at the Inn the night before, and whose parents it seemed, had insisted that she left the town. Anne had been unsure of what to do. When it became clear that everybody seemed to assume that she would leave with the group, she did not object. Despite the dangers that might lay ahead of them, the thought of bringing some distance between herself and the forest was comforting. Yes, she had gotten used to the Inn and the people there, and she would probably miss Nesta, Odo and even Master Dockleaf. Still, she did not exactly feel at home - rather like a temporarily tolerated guest. The whole day she helped with the preparations for the departure, keeping herself as busy as possible. She did not really have the heart to think about the future, and trying to think about the past was even less appealing. For now, she was content with the present.

Later in the evening, Anne walked across the Inn's courtyard, carrying one of the last piles of blankets and a couple of water sacks towards the two long open carriages standing near the archway. Nardil stepped out of the stables and called her name. She handed her cargo over to Odo, who was busy fastening the various packages and boxes on the vehicles; then she turned and went over to the Ranger. He motioned for her to follow him inside.

She had not been in here so far; therefore she looked around curiously. The light was dim and it was slightly cooler than outside. Along one wall, there were boxes with high doors. Inside of them, Anne could hear low chewing noises and the occasional sound of hooves scraping over the straw covered ground. Once or twice the pricked ears or a curious brown eye of the inhabitant appeared over the edge of a door while she passed by. Nardil stood at the far end of the barn in front of an open box. When Anne reached him, she saw that inside was a wiry dark brown and white spotted horse. It lifted its dark head from the container filled with hay that was hanging from the wall, and cocked its ears in her direction. Anne looked from the horse to Nardil, about to ask what this was about, and found that he was watching her.

"He is yours," the dark haired Ranger said. "It is a pity that he can not talk, don't you think?"

Not quite sure what to answer, Anne looked back at the horse, which now stuck out its long nose towards her. She took a tentative step inside the box and stretched out her hand; her fingertips brushed fleetingly over the soft, velvety skin between the nostrils, before he turned his head back to his food. She breathed in his warm, calming smell and stroked through the long, rough hair of his mane.

"I wonder what his name is," she muttered, directed at no one in particular.

"You could choose one for him." Nardil suggested with half a smile.

Anne shook her head. "No. It would not be fair for him to have to get used to a new name only because I can not remember his." She smiled, patting the little stallion's strong neck. "Will we take him with us?"

"Yes. He does not have the build for a carthorse, but he can carry luggage. I do not suppose that you want to ride yourself?"

He laughed at the expression on her face. "No worries, there is enough room on the carriages." He leaned onto the door of the box, gazing at the skewbald. "I thought it might be comforting for you to know that there will be a familiar companion of yours on this journey."

Anne nodded, still stroking the horse's neck. However, she was not so sure that the thought of this horse being the only link to her past right now was very comforting.

**:::**

They set off at first light the next morning, when the sky was still pearly grey with only a faint orange line on the horizon. Anne made her farewells to Master Dockleaf, awkwardly thanking him for his hospitality once more. Then she bade Odo and Nesta goodbye, thanking both of them, too. Nesta squeezed Anne's hand.

"You shall like Rohan. Liecia's relatives live there. You will be amongst friendly people." She said, with one of her rare smiles, though it seemed a little strained.

Anne nodded and smiled a bit uneasily. She had been trying not to think too much about what might await her in Rohan.

Shortly after that, Anne climbed into one of the carriages. Each one was drawn by two tall, sturdy horses. Anne shared hers with Liecia, the red haired woman whose name was Goda, and two other girls - both a little bit younger than her. The carters gave a sharp command, the horses pulled, and the cartwheels started to move with a grinding sound. Anne turned to look at the Inn one last time, and then they were through the archway and on the main road, where a third cart joined them. This time they turned right, and after the next bend, Anne could see that they were heading directly towards the forest, which loomed dark and menacingly in the twilight. She shivered in the cool morning breeze, grateful for her lined cape.

"Enjoy the coolness while it lasts," Liecia said to her grinning. "No doubt, it will get very hot today."

Anne returned the smile, admiring the other woman for the ability to keep up her high spirits.

Then she looked to the front again.

"We are not going into the forest, are we?" she asked; for it seemed in fact as if the road they were on, lead into the woods.

"Oh no, there is a path leading south, just beyond the edge of the town. It runs parallel to the Lasgalen for many miles though."

After they had left the last houses of the town behind them, Anne could see that Liecia was right. The carriages turned right one after the other, and they followed a field road. The wheel ruts on the ground were still visible, though they were overgrown with grass, as if the road was not used very often.

The sun rose, and the mists hanging over the meadows slowly vanished, while the three carriages and seven riders made their way southwards. As Liecia had anticipated, it soon became rather warm, though Anne felt like the air was a lot heavier than it had been the previous days. Liecia told Anne that she had travelled to Rohan once before when one of her cousins had married.

"How long did it take?" Anne asked.

"Almost three weeks, although there were less people… but we were not in a rush back then. My family can be exhausting," she grinned. "We were a lot faster on our way back."

Around noon, they made a short stop to eat something and water the horses.

Soon however, Nardil urged them to move on. Later, when Liecia was chatting with Goda, The Ranger caught Anne's eye while he looked up at the sky with a worried expression. Pale grey, heavy looking clouds had gathered, the air was hot and humid and smelled strongly, though not unpleasantly of grass and earth.

"I wonder who will ride to the Wood King, now that Nardil is coming with us…" Anne muttered to Liecia.

The blonde woman followed her gaze towards the Ranger. "Forwin, I believe. Nesta's betrothed. Of course, Nesta is worried about him, but Forwin is brave and considerate; he will do fine, I am sure."

"Nesta is betrothed to someone?" Anne asked astonished.

"Yes, since almost a year ago…" Liecia laughed at Anne's obvious surprise. "I know, she does not talk much about herself, Nesta… Oh no, is that rain?"

Liecia held out a hand - her gaze turned skywards, and Anne felt a drop on her face as well. The drizzle soon became a steady downpour, and the women hurried to cover themselves with wax-coated, thin capes, which fortunately were not buried too deep inside the luggage.

It was as if the rain was pressing on everybody's mood. No one talked anymore as the little convoy made its way along the road that became increasingly muddy. Steam was rising up from the horses' backs. When Anne's eyes wandered to her left, she had the sudden but distinct impression that the forest was a lot nearer than it had been before. She confided that thought to Liecia, who nodded.

"Further to the west, the ground is too marshy, the carriages would not get through there. A bit of a sinister sight in the rain, don't you think?"

Anne agreed entirely. There was yet something else, though. Their carriage was the last one in the queue. Nevertheless, for the last half hour or so, Anne felt the urge to turn around and look back, for the strange sensation that someone was behind her. Of course, every time she did, she could see nothing but the muddy road. She had just turned in her seat to look behind them yet again, when there was a sharp shout from someone at the head of the group. The carriage came to such a sudden halt, that Anne almost toppled over the side railing. She turned back around, and saw that the other carts had been brought to a standstill too; only Nardil directed his horse back along the convoy at a slow trot, until he had almost reached them. His searching look was fixed upon the forest.

"Why are we stopp-" Anne began, but Liecia quickly held a finger to her mouth gesturing for quiet, her eyes on the Ranger.

Anne, too looked towards the forest. The trees stood dark and motionless behind the curtain of rain. She could not see very far, and while beginning to wonder what had alarmed Nardil so much, she suddenly heard it.

In the sudden silence, after all the horses and cartwheels had stopped, there was a low - almost inaudible wailing noise. The sound went up and down in a steady interval; it made Anne think of a rope being swung around and around. It also seemed to grow fainter and then louder again. It was very eerie. Could that be the wind? She stared at the forest, trying to make something out in the rain, and the darkness between the trees. Then realisation hit her. No branch - not the smallest twig seemed to be moving; it was windless.

Nardil had stopped his horse, still gazing at the forest, his back turned on the others. Then, abruptly, he spun around in the saddle, a look of growing horror on his face. He was not looking at them, Anne noticed. One of the other men seemed about to ask something, but Nardil silenced him with a fierce wave of his hand, not taking his eyes from the rain-wet fields on the other side of the road. Despite the rain, Anne had no problems understanding his following, whispered words in the silence.

"We are not alone."

III III III

**:::**


	7. Collision

**:::**

**III III III**

The ensuing silence was only disturbed by the constant and strangely calm sound of the pattering rain. No one said a word. Even the horses stood completely still, as if they too, were sensing the sudden nervousness that was building up around them.

For some reason, Anne found it difficult to breathe. Once more, she glanced behind and about her, noticing others around doing the same thing. She looked back towards the forest, but again, she was not able to make out anything other than the grey tree trunks and the water dripping branches.

One man – Anne believed his name to be Anselm, seemed at last, not able to bear the tension any longer. He turned his horse, so that he was facing Nardil.

"What are we waiting for?" the man shouted, his voice slightly high-pitched and his agitation clearly apparent on his face. "We should…"

He never got a chance to finish the sentence. Anne did not realise what had happened for a few moments. One second, Anselm was still talking, while on the edge of her vision she saw Nardil flinch and then furiously shake his head in the man's direction. The next second, Anselm was groping at his throat, eyes wide, and as uncomprehending as she felt herself. The rain water running down his neck and into his collar turned crimson. Something was sticking out of his throat. He made a horrible noise, retching and burbling, and his face seemed to turn whiter in front of Anne's eyes. Somebody screamed and Nardil shouted - it might have been something about the carriages, Anne was not sure. She was sitting transfixed, unable to do anything but stare at Anselm, who now began teetering in his saddle.

Someone roughly grabbed her arm and the abrupt pain brought her back to her senses. She looked into Liecia's frightened face and heard Nardil shout "Everyone, _down_! Get off the carts!"

The next thing Anne heard was a thud and turning she saw that Anselm's horse prancing to the side riderless, and then it turned and fled. Just before Liecia pulled her from the carriage, she caught a glimpse at the motionless body on the ground. Then she was on the ground herself, next to one of the large cartwheels, her hands and knees were pressed into the warm mud.

Anne felt strangely disconnected from the panic and chaos around her - like a part of her would not accept that this was real, and that it was actually happening right now – with her right in the middle of it. She heard screams and shouts, felt Liecia's fingers digging into her upper arm, and the rain dripping from her hair onto her shoulders, but it at the same time it seemed completely unreal.

"Down!" She heard Nardil yelling. "I said get off the horses, get – NO!"

With a heavy thud and the splattering of mud, another body landed only a couple of feet away from her, face down into the miry earth. A short, grey-feathered arrow stuck in the back of his neck, right in the spinal column. Anne stared at it and could still feel nothing but vague confusion. But then there was a low hissing noise and another arrow hit the man lower in the back. At this point, fear and panic suddenly washed over Anne like a huge wave.

"Run! RUN!" the Ranger's voice rang through the panic-stricken screams.

Anne did not even know how she had gotten to her feet, but she was already running; running away from the carriages, away from the screams and the falling bodies. She ran faster than she would have thought herself capable of, without a clear destination - just away from this threat, from whoever was shooting arrows out of hidden places at unsuspecting people.

Her legs and feet were apparently on autopilot, which was probably a good thing, because her mind did not seem to work properly. Her heart was hammering wildly; her pulse seemed to be pounding in her ears. She was nearing the edge of the forest now – the forest that had seemed so threatening before, suddenly represented the only place of safety she could think of. There was a stomping sound behind her as Anne staggered while trying to look over her shoulder without stopping. She half expected an arrow hitting her own back any second, but all she could see was another horse without a rider, galloping roughly in the same direction she was running.

Anne had reached the first trees and felt the insane urge to laugh; she had not really expected to make it this far. But she kept running until the underbrush grew thicker and forced her to slow down in her flight. Several times her cape or dress was caught in the branches and twigs. At last she felt that she could not possibly take another step and she paused, gasping with her hands pressed into her sides. Promptly, she felt her knees giving out - she staggered forward and onto the ground.

She crawled towards the nearest tree and leaned against its trunk. The trees canopies kept out most of the rain, so the ground was relatively dry, covered with old, crumbly leafs and fir needles. Her mind slowly cleared while her breathing calmed and her pulse and heartbeat returned to a more normal pace. Anne thought of Liecia and Nardil, and of Goda, whose parents had wished for her to be safe so desperately that they had been willing to part from her without knowing whether they would see each other again. Anne started shivering and drew the cape tighter around her shoulders.

What had happened? Who had attacked them? Bandits, or perhaps these altered people everyone seemed so afraid and alarmed of. What were they after?

Suddenly, there was a cracking sound somewhere in the copsewood to her right. Her heartbeat quickened again as she stared into the twilight. There was nothing as far as she could see. Probably just a branch that had broken and fallen down or a fir cone. Still, Anne felt too nervous to keep sitting there and got up, her legs still shaking. Also, it slowly dawned on her now, that she had no idea which direction she had come from. At some point, she realised she needed to get back to the road if she did not want to starve or be eaten by whatever animals might live in the forest. Somehow, it felt less frightening to think of dangerous beasts threatening her, than of the people who might dwell in here.

Anne deliberately chose a direction that would get her away from the copsewood, and she could not help glancing back over her shoulder every now and then. In hindsight, she probably ought to have known. She had only walked for a couple of minutes, not really knowing whether she was even remotely going in the right direction. But she had almost reached the foot of a little hill, and hoped that she might get a better view around if she climbed it. She felt a presence in front of her - even before she saw him. She stopped short in the middle of the small clearing she had just entered, and without really knowing what had alarmed her, she stared ahead through the shrubbery on the other side. First, she saw only trees and scrub, since the figure was standing there silently and motionless, and was clad in colours that made him almost invisible amongst the shades of earth, leafs and tree bark. He was perhaps twenty feet away, staring at her - just as they had the first time she had seen them.

With a gasp, Anne stumbled a few steps backwards and then turned, prepared to run for her life, only to see herself confronted with three strange men, slowly advancing on her. They looked dirty - their clothes were ragged and their hair hung loose and unkempt over their shoulders. She was encircled.

Wildly thinking that one surely must be easier to get past than three, she whirled around again, but either that first one she had seen, was a lot faster than anybody should be, or there had been another one she had not noticed. Whatever the case might be, as soon as she had turned, she found herself directly in front of him. Her scream was stuck in her throat as he seized her around her neck with one hand in a swift motion. She clutched at his hand with both hers, but his grip was like iron. He did not try to strangle her – at least not yet. He simply held her in such a tight grip that she was unable to move, if she did not want her neck to be snapped.

It was very strange – For all her fear, the feeling of impending danger and the faint idea that she was now lost. Her mind was still able to perceive surprisingly many details. Her attacker was very tall and a few strands of his pale, silvery, wet hair brushed against her cheek as he slightly bowed his head as if to get a better look at her face. His skin was very fair and beardless. His eyes seemed much too dark and empty; it was like staring into deep holes. Anne vaguely thought that his face would have been beautiful, if it had not been the most scariest thing she could imagine. There was absolutely no hint of any emotion on his features; they were as empty as his eyes.

The skin of his wrist felt very cold and dry under her fingers, although his high cheekbones shimmered damp from the rain. He smelled cold too, metallic and of smoke, or burned wood.

Suddenly, he lifted his eyes and looked at something behind Anne, and then back at her face. Abruptly, he pushed her away so forcefully that it knocked the air out of her when she hit the ground. Her vision unclouded and the feeling of relief soon evaporated and was replaced by growing horror and panic as several hands grabbed her arms and one of her legs. Someone painfully seized her hair to hold her head down. Someone else was groping at the clasps of her cape and then at the buttons of her dress.

Anne could not breathe, as if her body had already decided to give up now, rather than endure consciously whatever would follow now. Anne struggled, desperately tearing at her assaulters' grips, but it was no use. They were too strong and there were too many of them; too many expressionless, empty and horrible faces, and gruesome, hollow eyes. Somehow, at the edge of her consciousness, Anne was aware that most of these features were more human. They were not the cream-faced, beardless, eerily perfection as the one who had grabbed her first.

Men and Elves…? Perhaps the same that had attacked the Ashgroves back in Carrockton? Of course, it did not matter now. Anne felt her strength waning, while the thought of Idonea struck her. And Herlewin, who had almost died trying to protect his wife. No one would protect _her_ though. While staring blindly at the gaunt, vacant face above her - the man who it belonged to, started to rip open her undergarment. Suddenly, his head shot up, and he gave a rattling noise and then collapsed – almost on top of Anne.

Horrified and shaken, she crawled out from under him, suddenly realising that no one tried to hold her down anymore. Looking back at the man, now lying motionless on the forest floor, she saw the arrow shaft sticking out between his shoulder blades. She hurriedly scrambled backwards, looking around wildly. Two of her other attackers were already down, both with arrows in their necks. A third one tried to escape, but even when he started to run another arrow hit him. The rest of them had vanished. But Anne whirled around, peering through the trees in the direction from where the shot had come. Had Nardil and the others found her? Someone appeared from behind the trees, but it was not Nardil or anyone else from her group, and certainly no one who lived in Carrockton. Anne's heart sank again and she felt her insides grow cold.

He seemed even taller than the one before. His long, wet hair hung down his chest, and a hood shadowed his forehead and eyes. His face was a cold mask as he drew nearer, nocked another arrow and drew his bow. 'Of course, out of the frying pan and into the fire.' Anne thought, while swallowing and getting to her feet, trying to hold her torn dress together as best as she possibly could.

Now that he was closer, she could see that his otherwise immaculate face was hollow-cheeked, and his eyes held not only a strange darkness, but also a fire that might have been recognised as passion - if it had not been so cold. It could not have been any clearer – this one only wanted to kill.

"No… stop…" Anne croaked. The fear seemed to have paralysed her vocal cords along with her legs. 'Stay calm,' she told herself. Judging from the look in his eyes, he was probably insane, but if she managed to keep talking, maybe it would distract him… how that would help her, she was not quite sure. But the fact remained that he had not shot her yet, and perhaps she could prevent him from doing so.

"You do not have to do this," she said, feeling a little silly for some reason, but also very relieved that her voice was not croaking anymore. "I am not…"

Even when starting the sentence, Anne did not really know what exactly she wanted to say, but it did not matter anyhow. At this moment the stranger lifted his bow a touch higher so that the arrowhead was now pointing at her chest, and drew the bowstring a little further back; Anne could hear the low, creaking sound.

She took the unmistakable sign as exactly what it was, turned on the spot and fled. It was a good thing her legs were working again. Even while she started to run, she could not help thinking: 'This is pointless, completely pointless… He is going to get me anyway…'

Why exactly she still ran, if that was the case, she had no idea. It was stupid and futile, but then that could probably be said about several of the baser human instincts.

Anne did not look back, but crossed the clearing and started to climb the slope of the hill. Unfortunately, she seemed to have chosen a rather steep part, and she felt like she was only moving up at a crawl. During these endless, agonizing seconds, she wondered why he had not stopped her yet.

Still not daring to look back, she started to realise that she had made it, and that he had, for some miraculous reason, lost interest in her and let her live. Then she heard a hissing noise. She felt the impact, centred somewhere around her right shoulder blade. She knew at once that she had never felt a pain like this before. Her shoulder, her back, her arm… she was not even certain, where exactly it had hit her. She was distantly aware of the fact that the arrow stuck somewhere in her back. This horrible pain that made her vision blur, made it very real. She even considered to try and keep running, but she could just as well have tried to sprout wings and fly. She hit the ground before she realised she had fallen. The world seemed to darken around her… then suddenly his face appeared somewhere above, wraithlike in the gloom, as he crouched down next to her.

"Please…" Her voice sounded as if it did not belong to her. Anne did not really know what she was pleading for, but she tried to focus her constantly blurrier vision on the area under the hood. With the part of her thinking that had not bowed out yet, she perceived that the belt that held his quiver was finely ornate, but looked worn and chapped and that there was a small hole near the hemline of his hood, and that his eyes were grey. Also they did not seem empty. Then she finally surrendered to the merciful darkness.

**III III III**

**:::**


	8. Staging Post

[AN: To everyone who has been following this story from the beginning: my sincerest apologies for this ridiculously long pause; I have not even an excuse, apart from RL kicking my backside quite a bit lately, plus a lot of trouble with the plot… I wrote and rewrote (and rewrote, and REwrote…) large parts of the chapters that are about to come up, only then to realise that other things I had written earlier (and were already published) would not work out that way… Well, I'm not gonna bore you any more, you get the image ;-) Again: Sorry! That being said, I should be able to get back to updating every week – every two weeks at the latest – from now on; hopefully until the first part of the story is finished.

Also a heartfelt Thank you to everybody who has been reading this fiction, and especially those who took the time to give me some feedback. I really hope you will keep reading and, more importantly, enjoying the story!

**And as always my special thanks to Lady Demiya for being the most efficient beta-reader I know]

**:::**

**III III III**

It was warm and soft around her, almost a bit too warm actually. The next thing Anne noticed was the fact that her shoulder and her back were hurting, though not as bad as they had before. She was lying on her stomach, and her face seemed to be surrounded by fluffy fur or hair, which was tickling her nose.

With a groan, she rolled over on one side – the one that did not hurt, and opened her eyes. She appeared to be in some sort of cave; the light was dim, but sunshine was coming from somewhere above her and from the side. Anne suddenly realised that her upper body was naked except for a few linen bandages that were wrapped around her chest and the injured shoulder. At least she was still wearing her long underpants as far as she could tell, and a thin blanket was covering her. Nevertheless, someone must have undressed her while she had been unconscious, which was not a comforting thought.

Anne decided that she should try to get up and find out how much damage exactly had been done to her shoulder and the rest of her body. She half sat up, unable to stiffle a moan when the dull pain in her shoulder increased at once.

"Do not move."

Anne froze in midmotion, but could not resist the urge to look in the direction the voice had come from.

He stepped soundlessly out of the shadows and approached her. Anne noticed that he was not carrying his bow and quiver anymore, but then, she thought sardonically, there was probably no use in shooting her twice.

"Tell me your name." He demanded calmly, his voice as smooth and cool as silk.

"Why don't you tell me yours first?" Anne retorted, and she was surprised by her own words and the vehemence they came out with. Perhaps it was the pain, or perhaps it was the simple fact that she was still alive after everything that had happened to her recently. Either way, there was after all only so much a person could take before cracking a little bit, she suspected.

His face remained impassive however; he simply paused a couple of steps away from her and crossed his arms over his chest. He probably had about eight inches on Anne, and even if he was a _lot _weaker than he looked, she would be no match for him, she realised with a sinking feeling.

"Some of your people call me Delior," He said softly.

"_My_ people?" Anne asked, bewildered.

"Yes, your people - Men."

"So, then you are not…" Anne stared at him, forgetting her pain and her agitation for a moment. "You are really one of the… one of them…?"

Delior's grey eyes narrowed slightly and his shoulders seemed to stiffen. "'One of them'?"

"One of the... the Elves?" Anne asked, a little hushed.

There was only a small pause, and the slight tension - if it had really been there and not just her imagination - appeared to dissolve.

"Yes."

"So... so, those people in the woods, who... who attacked me... do you know them?"

While asking, she could not help goggling at him a little bit, trying to take in his appearance more fully. His unusually tall and slender build, the pale skin with that almost pearly texture, his slightly too prominent cheekbones and the blueish shadows under his eyes.

The elf tilted his head to the side as if pondering her question, or perhaps to express displeasure; it changed the shadows on his face, and for a split second, Anne had the disquieting sensation that his skull seemed to shine through the skin in the twilight. He shifted again, and the illusion was gone.

"Are you referring to those I shot?" Delior asked tonelessly.

That was probably supposed to mean 'no'. Maybe it was simply elvish custom to shoot at everything they did not know.

As if he had read Anne's thoughts, Delior went on. "I assumed you belonged to them."

"'Belong to them'! They _attacked_ me!"

"When I arrived there, it did not look like an attack. I only realised my mistake when it was too late."

Anne glared at him. 'Mistake', what an interesting way to put it... Hell, he could have killed her! That did not seem to bother him much, though. Of course, now that she thought about it, the pain in her shoulder increased at once.

The Elf's dark eyes wandered down towards Anne's collarbone as if again, he had read her mind. More probable was that she was being rather obvious about her feelings, but there he was! Anne did not get attacked by a horde of... things, and then shot afterwards every other day (At least she hoped so) - everyone would be a tad upset. Suddenly she felt very exposed, wearing nothing but those bandages around her torso, and she pulled the blanket up a little.

Delior averted his gaze, but he was not finished with her. "You have yet to answer my question. What is your name?"

Still that cool and somewhat indifferent tone, which slowly began to vex Anne. She hesitated but finally decided that this was after all not too presumptuous a demand. "It's Anne," she said reluctantly.

"That sounds strange. Why were you alone in the woods? Surely a green thing like you was not traveling on her own?"

"I was not," Anne retorted. "I was traveling with a group, but when we were attacked, I was separated from the others, and-"

"Who attacked you?" Delior asked, his voice sharpened by a fraction.

"I don't know... We never saw them. I expect they were the same who found me in the woods..."

"Where were you traveling from?"

"From Carrockton. We-"

"And where to?"

"Rohan," Anne answered, feeling decidedly annoyed now. "There was an attack on the village, and a group of them decided to leave for Rohan... It is supposed to be safer there -"

"'Them'?"

"What?"

"You said 'a group of them decided to leave'. You are not from Carrockton, I understand?" the elf said in a would-be-patient voice.

Anne stared at him. He sure was a lot more observant than he looked.

"No, I am not," Anne said, after a short pause. "I am from Esgaroth," she added, just having remembered it, and hoping that he would not press the matter; she did not feel inclined to share all of her considerably short history with him.

Fortunately, Delior did not seem all too interested in her origins.

"Those people who attacked Ecthel - you were in the village when that accured?"

"'Ecthel'?" Anne asked, confused.

"Yes... the elvish name for Carrockton."

The hint of a frown had appeared on Delior's face, and Anne wondered uneasily whether this was something everybody was supposed to know.

"I was there, yes," she went on hurriedly. "But it happened at night, I did not see anything… People said that... that the attackers had been both men and elves."

She had just remembered this and closely watched Delior for a reaction while speaking, but his face remained blank.

However, he finally seemed to be satisfied, because he abruptly turned away and walked over to a corner where he squatted down (Somehow managing to make the movement look elegant), and started rummaging in the dark.

Anne watched him apprehensively. What if he had only kept her alive to interrogate her, and now that it was apparent she was of no more use, he would just finish her off?

Suddenly, the elf rose in one flowing movement and turned back to Anne, causing her to jerk, and then to wince, when she was unpleasantly reminded of her wounded shoulder. The next moment she forgot all about it once more, as Delior made to throw something at her. With a squeal, she backed away against the stonewall behind her.

"I assumed you might want to cover yourself up a little more," Delior said dryly, indicating the small heap of cloth that was now laying next to Anne's bed of furs.

"Ah... thank you..." Anne mumbled awkwardly, feeling rather foolish.

"You are quite welcome," Delior said, with his back to her; he was now pouring some water from one of a few large stone jars which stood against the cave wall.

"What, er... happened to my own things?" Anne asked when he put the water jug and a basket with sweetly smelling, slightly shrivelled apples next to the clothes.

"I am afraid I cut them to pieces," the elf replied off-handedly, causing Anne to drop the apple she had just picked up. He glanced at her. "Not because it amused me, but in order to treat your injury, I might add. I shall escort you back to Ecthel, as soon as your condition allows it, so do not worry – you will not have to wear those things for very long."

'My injury'... right, only that said injury was his work as well, Anne thought rebelliously, as she began examining the clothes he had given her, while awkwardly holding the blanket around her with one hand.

In addition to a thin tunic, some sort of waistcoat made of soft leather, and slacks of the same material, she also found a couple of clean strips of linen, which were probably meant for her shoulder. Anne glanced down at the bandages she was still wearing. They actually did look like they needed changing, having rust-brown stains on them and smelling rather unpleasantly. She had better do the changing first, so she would not need to undress again later.

Anne made to unwrap the bandages from her upper body, but then paused abruptly. She looked over to Delior, who was now perched on a rock near the entrance of the cave, working on something that looked like it might become an arrowhead someday. Well, he probably needed a lot of those, trigger-happy, as he appeared to be. Right now, what bothered Anne a lot more,however was the fact that he was sitting merely a couple of feet away. Sure, he had his back turned to her, and he had probably already seen everything there was to be seen, when he had first patched her up. Yet, still…

Anne knew that she was being ridiculous, but she could not help it; she just felt uncomfortable 'undressing' in front of him - or rather behind him, in broad daylight, with absolutely nothing between the two of them to shield her from view.

She hesitated, biting her lip and staring at the back of Delior's head when he suddenly spoke - a distinct note of haughtiness and impatience in his voice.

"If I had even the slightest desire to do anything that might besmirch your… _honour_, I could have done so more than a dozen times. Stop making such a fuss, would you?"

Anne glared at him while starting to take off the bandages. From what she knew about Elves so far, she definitely did not like them very much.

**:::**

The next couple of days, Anne spent her time alternately sleeping or at least lying down, since her shoulder and back still hurt quite a lot and wondering what could have happened to Liecia, Nardil, Goda and the others. She could not bear thinking about the various possibilities for too long though, and in the end, she finally settled on deciding that her travelling companions must have gotten away and be alright. Perhaps Nardil had even decided that the journey was too dangerous after all, and they had already returned to Carrockton…

Delior turned out to be a man – or person of even fewer words than Anne had first thought. He barely spoke to her again after the interrogation when she had first woken up, but Anne did not mind. The elf was so withdrawn and indifferent towards her, that she did not exactly feel the need to establish close ties with him. Yet, at times, she kind of wished for someone she could talk to; it really did not have to be hours-long in-depth conversation, but simply a light exchange every now and then to loosen the atmosphere - that would have been nice. However, Delior did not seem inclined to provide either, so in the end, Anne followed his example, remained silent and kept her thoughts to herself.

On her second afternoon at the cave, Anne felt considerably better than the night before; she had already spent a couple of very boring hours lying on her fur, staring at the ceiling, the wall and the opening _in_ the ceiling in turns. The latter of the three seemed to serve as both a light well and some sort of flue for the campfire. The view was partly obscured by some blooming shrubbery that was growing over the hole, but Anne gazed longingly at the small speck of blue sky she was able to see, where butterflies and lazily humming bees would float by every once in a while. Finally, deciding that some fresh air would do her good, she tenderly got to her feet and headed for the entrance of the cave.

On her way there, she passed Delior who was sitting next to the fire pit, long legs outstretched, and poking around in the feebly glowing remnants of the fire that had been burning during the night.

As usual, he did not seem to pay a lot of attention to whatever Anne was doing; she was just beginning to look forward to stretching her legs outside in the sun, away from the constant and somewhat gloomy presence of the elf, when he suddenly spoke without even looking up.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Caught by surprise, she paused and turned to him. "Oh, nowhere really. I just thought I could go outside for a bit… have a look around…"

"Do you really deem it wise to search for new trouble that soon?"

Anne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I am not planning on wandering into the forest; I simply would like to see something other than these stonewalls for a change. Besides, you did not seem to think it a problem when I went out last night and this morning."

"That appeared to be inevitable. Aside from that you went not further than a stone's throw away – I could hear every step you took and every leaf you picked."

Anne could feel her face going red. So that was why he had not followed her on those occasions. Who could have known he had hearing like a dog!

Delior finally looked up. As he did, a little sunlight fell on his face; turning the grey of his eyes into silver and making the dark circles under them stand out more prominent than ever, against the otherwise blemish-free skin. For the first time, and only swiftly Anne wondered if something was wrong with him.

"Have your previous encounters in these woods not teached you anything?" he asked coldly.

"That elves tend to shoot first and ask questions later?"

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed by a fraction. "And _are_ you not _lucky_ that I tend to do that… Otherwise you would be dead now, or at the very least –"

"You could have killed me just as well!" Anne shouted at him, her voice suddenly a lot shriller than before. Her terrifying encounter with those empty-eyed creatures that must have been normal people at some point was not something she was keen on being reminded of.

He watched her for a moment, while she fought to get her breathing under control. Finally, he lowered his gaze back to the pit and resumed stoking up the fire.

"It is not my duty to chase after you if anything should happen due to your foolishness," he said, though devoid of any edge now. "Rest as best as you can, and stay where you are – as long as I have you around my neck."

She stared down at him, feeling a confusing mix of anger, humiliation and helplessness. In the end, she turned around and went back towards 'her' corner.

"There is something else you had better understand…"

Anne sighed, paused and looked back at him; he still had his eyes fixed on the branch in his hand, and as he continued speaking his voice was calm and soft - almost gentle: "If it really had been my intention to kill you… you would be dead now."

Anne watched mutely as long, slender fingers snapped the branch effortlessly and threw the pieces into the fire.

**III III III**

**:::**


	9. Betweenness

[AN: Here now the beta-read version. A great big thanks to those who took the time to review the last chapters by the way. :) ]

**:::**

**III III III**

Over the next few days, Anne could not help but notice that the injury in her shoulder appeared to be healing a lot faster than what she believed to be normal. The skin had closed over the formerly angry looking wounds beneath her collarbone and next to her shoulder blade, and when Anne tenderly touched the lesions, she felt almost no pain.

Delior had presented her with a small bowl containing an evil smelling ointment of a dirty, grey green colour, and Anne suspected strongly that her speedy recovery was for the most part due to this.

"The leaves which are required to make this are extremely rare and difficult to acquire, so use it sparingly," the elf told Anne, as he handed her the little stone-pot. "The tincture is highly effective even in very small amounts."

His dry, warm fingers had brushed the palm of her hand for a fraction of a second; Anne had nodded and thanked him politely, while trying to fight down the thought of that same hand drawing a bowstring and sending an arrow into a girl's back.

:

The elf was by no means with her the entire time; he would leave the cave for a number of times a day, bringing back water or fruits when he returned, and, once or twice, a bird or a rabbit he had shot.

Anne had wondered aloud, whether it was not dangerous for her to stay alone in the cave, if he would not even let her take a walk on her own. Delior actually deigned to comment on that, but all he said was: "You are safe here."

:

One night though, Anne woke suddenly in complete darkness. The sounds of the nightly forest from outside seemed unnaturally loud and shrill in her ears. Although, she was not even able to see her hand in front of her face, she knew at once and with absolute certainty that she was alone in the cave. Nevertheless, she had quietly called Delior's name, and when there was no answer, the pure and blinding fear that had gripped her, came as an utter shock. Later, Anne had no idea how long she had been lying there – curled up in a ball, and feeling cold and numb all over her body. At some point, she must have fallen asleep again, because when she next woke, the grey, cold very early dawn light filled the cave and Delior was sitting with his back to her next to the once more merrily crackling fire.

In the morning, she had felt rather embarrassed about her fright, and so she restrained herself from asking Delior where he had gone to in the middle of the night.

:

Anne never saw the elf sleep. He was always still awake when she lay down at night, and already up when she woke in the morning. As impossible as that would seem, at times she wondered whether he got any rest at all, for although Delior did not exactly look exhausted or even tired, there was something slightly haunted about his hollow-cheeked face and the shadowed eyes.

Sometimes he would sit quietly though - leaning against the wall of the cave with his eyes closed, dark lashes resting on pale skin like minuscule bird's wings, his body's only movement being the slow and steady rise and fall of his ribcage.

Anne could not keep herself from looking over at him then, (seeing as she had not much else to observe) and though his behaviour never suggested that he was actually ill, she found an odd comfort in watching him breathe.

He never seemed to relax completely however, for even during those times, his eyes would flutter open at the smallest snap of a twig or the slightest sound of a bird or some other animal outside in the forest. Often, Anne - not having heard anything herself, had absolutely no idea what might have caught his attention, and she repeatedly asked herself how well his hearing could possibly be.

Sometimes Delior left without his bow, a basket, or a water jar, and did not return for several hours. Anne once asked him where he was going on those occasions, but all she got in return was a very dry comment on nosy children. Being called 'nosy' bothered her a great deal less than being called a child, and she did not attempt to speak to the elf for the rest of that day.

Another time she asked him whether he actually lived in the cave. It was early evening and they were sitting next to the fire. Delior was stitching something that seemed to be a ripped cloak, and Anne was nibbling some sweet, scarlet berries that tasted not unpleasantly like they were already half fermented.

Delior's eyes met hers briefly, before returning to his work.

"Would that not meet your approval?" he asked silkily.

"No! I mean to say - that is not what I meant…" Anne sighed. Did he always have to be so damn defensive? "I was simply wondering whether you are only here because of me. Since it does not exactly seem to be…" she waved a vague hand "… equipped for permanent staying. I was _just_ being curious," she added.

"Has no one ever taught you how dangerous that can be?" he asked slowly, his tone of voice the sort of which subtly implied that one did not really anticipate an answer.

"What? Being curious?" Anne said nonetheless.

"Some might consider it rude as well…"

Anne resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I was under the impression that, as for character attributes, that one was favourable. Or at least charming." All right, perhaps a few too many fermented berries.

He did not reply, so she went on:

"But of course, what do I know… for example, I should think that answering every question with a question is hardly the politest way to go either."

With an air of resignation and only partial-hidden annoyance, Delior looked up at her.

"This is not my home, though I have lived here for a while. I had already vacated this cave and was on my way eastwards when _you_ ran into me."

'Ran into his arrow more like…' Anne thought but had the good sense to hold her tongue.

"There was yet another reason for me to delay my departure, though. A few more days make no difference. It was certainly not because of you."

'Yes, yes, no need to stress that,' Anne thought sourly.

"What other reason?" she asked, by way of striking back.

But instead of replying, Delior drew a small knife from somewhere under his belt (and thereby made Anne jerk), took a last scrutinising look at his stitch work and cut off the rest of the thread. He then folded the garment and threw it over to Anne who caught it, feeling puzzled.

"That ought to do it," The elf said simply.

Thoroughly baffled, Anne unfolded the cloth again. It was no cloak. It was a cape of a thick, rich material with a fur lining which she recognised at once. The rip in the back was neatly sewn together; there was barely any evidence left that it had been there at all.

"But… that is… how… I thought you cut all my clothes to pieces?" she finally said in astonishment.

"Yes, most of them. Yet, I believed that this one might still be of some use," Delior replied with a delicate shrug.

"So, you… you repaired it for me?" Anne muttered, still gawping at him.

"What sort of question _is_ that? You just watched me doing it."

"That is… er… thank -"

"No need," he said curtly. "I was the one who did the damage in the first place, was I not? Also, you probably would have done a _much_ tidier job of it," he added in an odd tone of voice.

Anne glanced quickly up at him, but the elf's face was perfectly blank again, and his eyes unreadable as he now swiftly got to his feet.

He had already turned towards the cave entrance, but paused, looking back down at her.

"On that other matter… I have not heard that importunity or boldness were ever considered charming – but if they, in fact, are – be advised that there is a limit to everything."

Anne stared after him, as he strode away. He really had to put a damper on everything remotely nice that he did or said, didn't he?

**:::**

The next morning, Anne decided that there were some conditions that she could not possibly ignore any longer. Therefore, after having dressed in her corner (as usual, huddled under her blanket), and pulling on the boots which the elf had given her for her short trips outside, she got to her feet and approached Delior who was perched on the rock near the mouth to the cave.

While trying very hard to project an air of confidence, Anne positioned herself next to him and drew herself up to her full height.

"Excuse me, I don't wish to disturb you, but I need -" she began, but paused when she saw what he was doing.

Delior had something in front of him that looked horribly like a whole severed hind leg of some large animal – perhaps from a stag or a ram – and he was apparently busy cutting out sinews from it with a long, vicious-looking knife, and carefully placing them on a square piece of rough linen on the ground beside him.

The elf glanced up at Anne, followed her appalled gaze back down at the joint and let his knife sink.

"They are used for bowstrings."

"You killed him for bowstrings?" Anne asked, mildly shocked.

"No, you silly girl. _She_ was already dead; I found the doe with its throat slit, on the other side of the valley. What do you need?"

"Aah, yes," Anne said distractedly, somehow having lost the thread of the conversation. She pulled her eyes away from the unpleasant sight. "I, er – I really need a bath."

Delior's features seemed to freeze yet a little more before his eyes widened slightly, and he almost indiscernibly knit his brows together.

Honestly, one might think she had invited him to accompany her.

"This is not a matter of vanity," Anne hastened to explain, "but believe me, it is in both our interests that my skin finally comes in contact with something other than a damp cloth and the same garments every day."

For a moment, Anne thought she saw his nostrils flare, and she very much hoped that this was a mere trick of the light. The elf crushed that hope with his next words.

"I have smelled worse things."

"That is NOT helpful!" she spluttered as soon as she had found her tongue. The cheek of it! She took a deep breath. "Perhaps you don't mind, but I do. Just show me where to go. Please…" she added as an afterthought. There was, after all, no need to push her luck.

In fact Anne knew that Delior went somewhere else to wash up or bath. (Which of course was preferable) Sometimes, usually in the morning, he left the cave wearing only a loose tunic of sorts over his breeches, and a piece of cloth slung over his shoulder, and would return with damp, shimmering skin, his long, wet hair falling loosely down his back.

The elf regarded her for a moment, and then slowly dropped his gaze in that manner of his that Anne gradually came to know so well, and that was anything but bashful.

At length he put aside his knife and rose.

"As you wish."

Having expected a lot more resistance on his part, Anne squinted up at his face, slightly taken aback. Delior went past her and into the corner of the cave where clothes, blankets and garments were stored, and Anne watched him pick something up. Then he turned and walked swiftly back towards the entrance, throwing a small bale of cloth to Anne as he passed her.

"Follow me," he said, unusually politely as he slung both his bow and quiver over his shoulder; Anne had a feeling that this could not be good.

Nonetheless, she hurried to keep up with the elf, who soft-footedly made his way down the stony and sparsely vegetated slope. Soon they had left the piny and moss-covered twenty or so yards behind them, that she already knew, and advanced further into the forest. After perhaps five minutes of walking, they reached a stream. They followed it for a short distance, until it became narrower but apparently also a lot deeper.

Delior stopped and Anne looked around her. Pines were growing more densely at this part of the stream, and the banks were grass-covered with very few pebbles. Several huge, flat stones were just visible above the surface of the water.

Anne sighed - This was actually better than she had hoped for. She had already half-expected some muddy pond full of leeches and midges. At any rate, the water of this stream looked clear and rather clean.

She turned to Delior who was watching her, arms folded, and probably waiting (or hoping) for some sort of entertaining reaction from her. Well, she was not about to give him that satisfaction. Instead, Anne forced a smile on her face. At least now she knew why he had so readily agreed to interrupt his activity and to bring her to this place.

"Thank you, I believe I can take it from here then…" she told him in what she hoped was a serene and casual voice.

He merely nodded, and when she kept looking up at him expectantly, he slowly unfolded his arms.

"What is the matter, now? Do you need further instructions?"

"Are you just going to stand there?" Anne asked incredulously.

The elf raised an eyebrow. "That was my intention, yes – unless there is anything else you need help with."

"If you could perhaps – _kindly_ – turn around so I can get in?" Did he have any manners at all?

Delior waved an impatient hand towards the embankment.

"I will not be able to see you once you are down there."

"That is _hardly_ the point!"

For a moment, Anne thought he was about to argue further; he stared at her, his brow slightly furrowed, as if observing some sort of strange creature, whose behaviour he was unable to make sense of. At length though, he crossed his arms again and turned his back on her.

"If you insist…"

Anne sighed. "Much obliged." She started climbing down the bank side when she heard him continue.

"Whereas it is beyond my understanding why you think yourself so irresistible."

Anne, fuming, turned her head to stare daggers at the elf's back, but decided not to spend any more time than necessary in this compromising situation, and therefore hurriedly undressed. As she took of the tunic she once again marvelled at how well the wound had healed already.

Once she had put her clothes aside she took the bundle of linen cloth Delior had given her, crouched down on one of the large stones and held a testing hand into the slow-flowing water – and gasped.

It was freezing cold, at least compared to the pleasantly warm late summer air.

"I do wonder how human girls get anything done at all, seeing as how much ado they seem to make about everything," Delior's very audible muttering sounded from somewhere behind and above her. At least he still appeared to have his back to her.

Anne pulled herself together, took a deep breath and let herself glide into the stream – not able to stifle a whimpering moan.

**:::**

On their way back to the cave, Anne was busy wringing out her hair and her clothes; she had insisted on washing the latter too, while she had already been on it. She was now wrapped into the linen cloths, which had previously served as her towels. Only the breeches she had put back on, after getting them as dry as she possibly could.

Delior had not wasted any time before informing her how this could entail the most uncomfortable ailments, but Anne was ready to take that risk rather than walking around barelegged.

They had almost reached the cave and Anne had just opened her mouth in order to ask Delior when he was planning for the two of them to leave for Carrockton - when the elf suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, and with a sharp wave of his hand motioned for Anne to do the same.

Anne looked around utterly mystified; she even held her breath, but could hear nothing but the low twittering of birds and the drowsy humming of bees.

"What is -" she began in a low voice – though apparently not low enough. Anne stumbled slightly as Delior gripped the back of her neck with one hand and clamped the other one over her mouth.

"Quiet now," he hissed at her.

With some difficulty, Anne looked up into his eyes – and felt a shiver run down her spine. She recognised that cold burning…it was the same way he had looked at her when she had first met him in the forest. His gaze now slowly wandered over the trees and shrubbery in front of them.

Then, in what appeared to be one sole motion, he had let go of her and bent his bow.

Anne who had almost gone to the ground, staggered upright again, looking around wildly. She was still at a loss as to what had caught Delior's attention; neither could she see nor hear anything that would explain his reaction. Nevertheless, she slowly edged behind the elf.

She had just started to wonder whether arrows would begin whooshing down on them any second now, when she heard it: first a soft laughter, and then… a voice like she had never heard before – full of age, and youth, and unsung melodies.

"_Dartho, maetho_!"

There seemed to be a distinct note of amusement to the voice. Anne glanced at Delior and saw his eyes widen before he let his bow sink. She looked back to the front just in time to see someone emerge out of the greenery opposite of them; a very tall figure, whose face was shadowed by its hood, he (or she, as, for that Anne was not quite sure) had only gone a few paces, before he stopped and spoke again.

"_Mae govannen, Legolas_."

III III III

**:::**


	10. A Change of Plan

**:::**

**III III III**

The stranger threw back his hood.

At the same moment Anne forgot all thoughts of impending dangers. This could be no earthly creature ...

How could those graceful features hold the glowing, fiery shine of youth, while at the same time radiate such wisdom, age and power? How was it possible that a faint, white light seemed to be shining through the stranger's very skin? And, how could his eyes appear like they might have been able to tell the secrets of millennia if one only dared to read them.

She had thought that there was something slightly transcendent about Delior, something that did not really belong into this world. Apparently though, 'transcendent' was quite common for elves – for there was absolutely no mistaking that she was now face to face with another member of that race. This one, however, had to be in an entirely different 'league' – so to speak.

It seemed to Anne that he was a lot older than Delior, though why she felt so, she could not have told. The skin of the fair face was smooth; there were no lines around his bright eyes, nor was there any sign of grey in his hair of shining gold.

And yet there was something in the look and even in the clear voice of this elf … If pressed to describe him (a task on which she probably would have failed), 'young' or even 'youthful' would not have been her first choice of vocabulary.

Anne suddenly became aware that her mouth was hanging open, and she quickly shut it, and – not knowing what else to do – she glanced up at Delior. He too, seemed momentarily rendered speechless by the other elf's appearance, however. At length, with the slightest bow of his head, he spoke, if only a single word in a cold and somewhat distant voice.

"Glorfindel."

The golden haired elf smiled ruefully, though he did not seem surprised at the less than warm welcome. He now started speaking urgently to Delior, his voice low and his eyes fixed on the other's face. He spoke once more in that strange, beautiful language, though Anne could not have told where one word ended and the next one began.

Delior listened, his face a mask of indifference. However, he slung his bow back over his shoulder, which finally assured Anne that there was no imminent danger to them. At last, Delior answered the strange elf in a clipped voice, and apparently in the same language.

Anne looked blankly from one to the other; it appeared that she was being completely ignored. On second thoughts, this was probably not such a bad thing, since her current raiment was consistent of nothing but a few towels. In fact, heading back ahead of Delior and his friend (or whoever he might be), suddenly seemed like an excellent idea to her.

She could see the cave from where they were standing. So, no sooner thought than done, she turned and hurried along the uneven, rocky path that lead up the hillside. No one made an attempt to stop her. After reaching the cave, she swiftly spread out her still slightly damp clothes on a flat boulder, of which the surface was warm from the sun. Only the long underpants she put back on promptly. Their current state of dryness would just have to do, for she was far from keen to display them publicly – however unfeminine they might be. While thus engaged, Anne could not help but wonder who the strange elf may be, and what he and Delior might be discussing. It had seemed as if they knew each other, but while the other elf had appeared pleased, or at any rate, relieved at their meeting, Delior himself had seemed reluctant and cautious.

On the other hand – as far as she could tell by now, he had probably just been his usual reticent (and not so endearing) self.

**:::**

Only about three quarters of an hour had passed, when quiet voices reached Anne's ear, slowly growing more distinguishable as they drew nearer.

Anne, who had retrieved her clothes and gotten dressed in the meantime, looked up and watched as both Delior and the other elf, who was leading two horses behind him, approached the crag. They had stopped talking now, and upon reaching the mouth to the cave, Delior called Anne's name.

Anne leapt up from her fur bed where she had been sitting (trying to brush her hair with her fingers), and went to meet the two elves at the entrance.

She half expected to be scolded for running off, but Delior merely frowned at her half dried clothing, before indicating the golden haired elf.

"This is Glorfindel, who dwells in Imladris - or Rivendell, as you call it in the common tongue. He bears news that may be of interest to you."

Something stirred in Anne's mind, but it was gone before she could grasp it. Also, she had no time to dwell on the matter, as the elf named Glorfindel now smiled at her in a very distracting manner.

"Well met, Anne. Forgive our previous misbehaviour," he said with a slight bow of his head. "Be assured that not disrespect was the reason, but mere haste and urgency."

"Oh, er, no… I mean… that is quite all right," Anne muttered, feeling somewhat intimidated at being addressed by him. In order to keep herself from staring at Glorfindel, she deliberately looked away from him, and over at the two horses instead. One was a tall, magnificent stormy grey, but then Anne's eyes fell on the second horse, and her jaw dropped. It was a piebald that looked oddly familiar – as did the saddlebags and the rolled-up and tightly secured blankets, which he was still carrying.

"But, that… that is my horse!" she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her awe, and slowly walked towards the two. The spotted, little steed turned its head to look at her approaching, and made a low sniffing sound. "We brought him with us, when we left from Carrockton," Anne said as she reached out her hand to stroke the animal's dark, softly gleaming neck. "Where did you find him?"

"Nearly sixty miles south from here, at the height of Dimrill Dale," said Glorfindel. "He and two of his travelling companions - both riderless, were grazing peacefully in a small clearing just beyond the western borders of the forest. I took the lot with me, yet on the very next morrow, I was able to hand the other two back to their rightful owners."

"The Carrocktons?" Anne asked quickly, "You met them? Are they safe, then?"

But even as the questions were leaving her lips, she remembered Anselm and the other rider, whom she had watched being shot, and her heart sank. "How many of them were there?" she asked Glorfindel anxiously, "How many women…?"

But Glorfindel, who had waited patiently for her to pause, shook his head.

"I understand your worries, but I fear it is not in my power to ease them," he said kindly to her. "The Dúnadan who travelled with the villagers told me that the group had been widely scattered, and that the whereabouts of many were yet unknown. However, those I met had seven women with them." Glorfindel seemed to sense how important this particular information was to Anne, since he went on: "Three of them were… well advanced in years, but the other four appeared merely on the edge of adulthood…"

Anne felt relief sweep over her. Apart from her, Liecia, Goda and the two girls from their cart had been the only young women in the group. (Or at any rate the only ones who one would describe as 'on the edge of adulthood') This had to mean that they all had gotten away, and were all right, had it not? Delior interrupted her thoughts by uttering something that sounded remarkably like a snort, given that that was most certainly something, that elves were _not_ known to do.

"That was very eloquently worded, Glorfindel, though I must say, I am struggling to grasp the point of all this," Delior said, before addressing Anne. "Did you not say that you had neither kin nor loved ones in Ecthel? Glorfindel may understand, but I do not. Why do you worry?"

"Legolas…" Glorfindel said warningly.

"'_Why do I_ _worry'_?" Anne asked slowly, looking at Delior incredulously. "Just because I am not related to, or… or close friends with any of them… Maybe I am not, but they helped me! They trusted me, they were kind, and they let me stay with them when I had nowhere else to go. How could I not care?"

Delior looked like he was about to respond, but Glorfindel said hurriedly:

"But of course you are right to fear for them, Anne; it gives surest proof of a kind heart."

"Er, uh…yes. Thank you," Anne mumbled, somewhat embarrassed, not knowing how best to respond to that.

"At any rate, my heart is glad that I was able to aid in the reunion of at least two members of your company," Glorfindel said, with a glance at the piebald horse. "Your travelling companions and the Dúnadan would not take him back. It seemed to me, they hoped I might come across you on my journey northwards. But it appears that, by fortune, Legolas found you first."

Anne, realising that Glorfindel was talking about Delior, wondered wryly in how much detail the latter had explained about the circumstances under which he had found her. 'By fortune', indeed!

On the other hand – admittedly, he _had_ saved her life, and seeing as she was not about to be shot of him for another week or so, it probably would not be wise to elaborate on the matter right now. What was more - along with the piebald horse, she had also gotten her luggage (containing her own undergarments) back, which improved her mood considerably.

"The question is: What shall happen with her now?" Glorfindel continued, speaking to Delior once more. He was still using the common speech however, and Anne suspected that this was mainly for her benefit. "Will you take her to Rohan, following the villagers?"

"That may be better, but there is no time to take such a detour – even less so if I were to take your advice," Delior answered.

"You should," Glorfindel said gravely. "Though, I still hope that someone or something will discourage you from following through with your plan. But if, alas! It cannot be prevented, heed my words and first go to Bree, for it will be well nigh impossible as it is. You do neither speak their tongue, nor do you know about the peculiarities of those people and their lands, and in Bree you may find help for at least that obstacle.

But on this matter, I cannot advise you, and we have wandered from one topic to another – If you will not go to Rohan, where will you bring her?"

"Back to Ecthel, I think. That was the plan, at any rate."

Glorfindel suddenly looked dismayed. "But that is not possible! I believed you must have heard about it, otherwise I would not have kept quiet till now; the town of Ecthel has been abandoned!" he turned to Anne. "There was a raid. Only a couple of days after you left as it seems."

"But there were still people there!" Anne exclaimed, horror-struck. She suddenly remembered vividly the look of worry and tension on Nesta's fair face, and her weak smile as she had bidden Anne Goodbye. "The Inn… were you there? Have you seen what -?"

Glorfindel held up a hand to gently interrupt her rambling, and there was clear distress in his face now, at being the bearer of such ill news.

"I am sorry, but there is naught more I can tell you. I have not been to the village myself, for I was on my way back from the South, from Minas Tirith when I met the fleeing villagefolk."

"But then you don't _know_," Anne all but shouted, while barely restraining herself from seizing the elf by his collar and shaking him. "You have only heard - you don't know for _sure_!"

"Alas, I do know for sure," Glorfindel said, in a calm voice, seemingly undeterred by Anne's lack of composure. "A number of orcs and other, even fouler things attacked the townships five nights ago. There was a fight, it appears, but the townsfolk were outnumbered by far, and in the end, had no choice but to flee. Not by any means you can return there; I dare say the village is being plundered as we speak, if it has not already come to pass."

"Those are bad tidings indeed," Delior, who had silently watched their exchange, now said slowly. "Orcs between the Carrock and _Eryn Galen_! Never would they have dared such in the days of Beorn."

"True," said Glorfindel, "and the fact that word of such evil seems to not have reached the forest yet, troubles me even more. I cannot linger any longer, I fear."

Anne vaguely noted that Delior did not ask Glorfindel how he knew about the attack, when he had been miles and miles away from the happening after all, but she found she did not really care. She thought of grumpy, brave and noble Dorlas Dockleaf, of merry Odo and of quiet, earnest Nesta. Where were they now – that was, if they were still alive… and Nesta's betrothed, Forvin, who had set out for the Palace of King Thranduil… was he safe?

With difficulty, she forced her mind away from dark thoughts and back to the present. The two elves had started talking in their own tongue again; at this moment Delior shook his head at something Glorfindel had said, before replying softly and indicating the horses.

'Not that I would understand a word, even if you were yelling,' Anne thought sullenly as she watched them.

Glorfindel now laid a hand on Delior's arm and spoke in a very urgent and insistent tone; Anne thought she heard the word _Imladris_ again, amongst the (to her) incomprehensible muttering.

Delior averted his eyes while the other elf spoke. At length he looked up and gave the tiniest nod. This appeared to satisfy Glorfindel, though he still looked doubtful and worried when he was bidding them farewell shortly afterwards.

"May stars shine upon your road, which may lead you to happier and safer days soon," he said to Anne, who merely nodded awkwardly, wondering if there was an appropriate response.

Glorfindel mounted his grey horse and turned it around, but looked back at Delior once more. "_Navaer_," he called.

"_Navaer_," Delior said in return; both he and Anne watched Glorfindel ride off down the slope in a slow trot, his golden hair and the silvery grey of his horse's coat shining in the twilight beneath the canopy of green, until they finally disappeared between the denser growing trunks and vanished from sight.

The piebald horse began to prance sideways, and tossed his head when Anne tried to grip the reins more firmly. He obviously did not like being left behind and seemed on the verge of breaking loose to follow Glorfindel's steed.

Delior stepped up to the horse and laid his right hand flat against the dark neck, while speaking words of that elvish language to the animal. His tone was soft, calming and gentle, and quite different from anything Anne had heard from him so far. Even she could feel the soothing effect of the elf's voice as she watched the piebald quieten down and allow Delior to lay his other hand on his head, until he finally snorted and stood still.

Delior's hands fell mechanically to his sides as he turned to look at Anne.

"You should pack up your things and also sort out the contents of these bags," he told her, indicating the saddlebags. "Then get as much rest as you can. We shall leave on the morrow at first light, and the journey lying ahead of us will be long and difficult."

With that, he turned and went to fetch his knife and the doe's leg from the ground, then walked towards the fire pit where he crouched down and started rekindling the glowing embers. Anne was left standing at the entrance and with the distinctive feeling that a _very_ important piece of information had escaped her notice.

"What…?" she finally managed to blurt out. "Wait!" she called, letting go of the horse's reins (that fortunately merely started grazing) and followed the elf inside the cave. "What do you mean, 'We leave on the morrow', leave for where? I thought it was out of the question to return to Carrockton."

Anne was very aware of being a considerable trouble to him, and whilst knowing that it was not her fault, the thought made her feel defensive and annoyed. After all, it was not like she _wanted_ to keep clinging to his coat-tails. But since they concerned her as well, was it too much to ask to be kept informed of his travelling plans?

Delior looked up in time to see the gloom on her face. He sat back, laying down the oak branch he had been using as a poker.

"There is no need to look at me so sullenly," he said, his grey eyes seeking hers. "As matters stand, you have but two choices: Remain behind in this cave on your own - or follow me to the township of Bree, west of the Misty Mountains. Would you rather stay here?"

Anne bit her lip and looked away from his sharp eyes. "Why Bree?" she dared to ask at length. "It must be very far, if it lies on the other side of the mountains. Also you told me that you had been travelling to the east when you… when we met."

Delior turned his attention back to the fire.

"That is my purpose, yes," he said calmly. "First, however, my path goes west. I have to meet with someone in Bree, and it should be possible for you to stay there, I expect."

'Being shoved around from one place to the next is threatening to become my everyday life,' Anne thought darkly. Not really having an idea of a particular place where she _wished_ to go right now, it probably did not make much of a difference, though. Still, the thought was not a pleasant one. Suddenly, she remembered something else that had given her food for thought.

"Why did Glorfindel call you Legolas?"

"Probably, because it is my name."

"But why did you lie to me?" Anne asked in surprise.

"I did not lie to you," he said absentmindedly.

"Yes! You told me that your name was Delior."

"I told you that some people call me that."

Anne fought the urge to groan. "Well, what should I call you then?"

"To tell you the truth, I care not," Delior sighed. "It matters little, so call me whatever you please." He waved the branch at her.

"Now go. Pack up, rest, sleep or tend to your horse, but whichever you choose to do, do it quietly. Glorfindel's ramblings tired me and yours are not better. Also, get out of those sodden clothes, for otherwise you will be unfit to go anywhere tomorrow."

He fell silent after that, and Anne had no choice but to make do with these 'disclosures'.

Therefore, with a huffed "They are hardly 'sodden'," she turned and headed back towards the cave entrance, with the aim to heed one of the elf's suggestions, and tend to the piebald.

While under way, it might be pleasant to have at least one friendly face around.

This was going to be a very long journey indeed.

**:::**

**AN: **Thanks to my ever patient Beta, as well as to everyone who reads this and especially those who reviewed, for their kind words! :-)

On another matter: _Dúnadan_ is, as far as I know, the singular of the word, whilst the word _Dúnedain _refers to the race in general, or at least a group of them. In TfotR, the elves and Bilbo, when speaking about or with Aragorn, use the word _Dúnadan_.


	11. Damned if You Do, Damned if You Don't

**:::**

**III III III**

The morning of their departure dawned grey and with a surprisingly cool breeze. It blew into the cave, causing the flames of their campfire to flicker, and even found its way into the blankets that Anne had wrapped around herself as the night grew steadily cooler.

With a groan she rolled around so she was facing the fire and the warmth of it only just reached her face.

Her sleep had been fitful. At one point, she had dreamt about walking through a field, trying to keep up with Delior, who had been walking in front of her. She had kept falling behind and the distance between them had grown farther and farther until she felt like she was not making any progress at all. Upon looking down, she found herself standing in the middle of a bog, slowly sinking deeper - the mud already reaching up to her waist.

She had fought desperately to get out of the mire, merely bogging down ever deeper as she struggled. She then had started calling for help, but Delior simply kept walking, without glancing back once - his figure growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

Anne did not remember how the dream had ended, which was probably for the better.

With another groan, she sat up, pulling her clothes towards her. To her chagrin, she discovered that the over-tunic was still damp. Now that she was more awake, she also noticed that her nose was a little stuffed-up and her airways felt slightly sore.

Brilliant.

Delior would probably have some herbal miracle cure for this - like the one he had given her for the shoulder wound, but Anne would be damned before she would ask him for it. Perhaps he would not notice.

The subject of her thoughts entered the cave at this moment, carrying a large bundle of what appeared to be clothes under one arm, as well as a saddle and a blanket over the other one.

His long hair looked wet, and the length of it was wrapped into a piece of cloth that hung over his shoulder.

He now carefully put saddle and blanket on the ground next to the fire pit, crouched down and began unwrapping the bundle.

Anne, having just finished dressing, stiffly got to her feet and went over to the fire too, groaning once more as she walked. Her neck felt like she had been resting her head upon a stone for most part of the night. She would never get used to sleeping on the ground, fluffy lambskins or not. Massaging her neck muscles and muttering darkly to herself, she sat down at the fire pit opposite the elf.

Delior glanced up briefly.

"Take that off," he said, pointing at the tunic.

Anne looked up at him, frowning. 'Why, good Morning to you too,' she thought.

"Pardon me?"

"It has cooled down quite a bit, and those have not dried," he replied impatiently, as if irritated at having to explain himself further. "Soon, you will no doubt contract one of those lingering, tedious mortal diseases, and Eru alone knows how long that will delay us."

Well, _someone_ had got out of the wrong side of bed, that was for sure. Not really having a bed to get out of, that was. Or, as in his case, probably not even having slept at all.

Either way, there was no need for him to take his morning mood out on her - she had enough of that on her own, thank you very much!

"This will be fine," Anne said shortly. "At least it is better than with nothing on at all."

Delior eyed her with a look of disbelief on his face. "Are you saying that you brought nothing else to wear? What about your luggage?"

Anne had sorted through the clothes in her saddlebags the previous evening, only to verify what she had already been suspecting; amongst the fine dresses and long undershifts, there was next to nothing that would be suitable for a long journey.

Presumably she would be walking all day during the upcoming weeks. Apart from looking ridiculous in silk dresses on a journey like this, she would probably ruin them within a couple of hours. The undershifts perhaps, she might be able to use if she folded up the skirts and somehow managed to secure them in place.

"Those are mostly dresses and such," she explained to the elf. "They are not really meant for travelling on foot."

"But you set out for Rohan like that?" he asked, his brows slightly raised. "Ai, what were you people thinking? I wonder, do mortals teach their children anything?"

"That journey was not exactly planned either," said Anne grumpily. She was no child!

"There is nothing to be done about it," she went on. "Everything I brought with me is inside those bags, and it's hardly my fault that there is nothing suitable for wandering through the wilderness. Well, apart from the things I was wearing of course. Those you cut apart if you remember," she added for good measure.

"If it is any consolation to you," Delior said softly, his eyes not betraying any emotion, "they were already ruined beyond repair, and on top of that, downright unsightly."

Anne scowled at him. Oh really, she was ever so sorry that they had not been to his liking.

"Fine," she snapped, "but unsightly or not, I have nothing but this, so it will just have to do."

"Not necessarily," said Delior, and without warning, threw her a few of the things that he had been unwrapping before.

Anne caught them clumsily, nearly dropping one of them into the fire. Curiously unfolding the cloth, she discovered that they were indeed garments, and similar to the ones the elf was wearing. They merely appeared to be simpler - both in material and style.

Also, while Delior's raiment was kept in shades of green, these garments were of earth-coloured cloth, mainly brown or grey.

However, more significant than anything else was that they were small - much too small, in fact, for the elf - though they probably would fit her perfectly. They smelled a little dusty but did not look too worn.

"Are these women's clothes?" Anne asked in astonishment. She wondered why he had not given her these in the first place, but rather parted with some of his own, which apart from being too big for her, he surely needed himself.

"Of course not," Delior said. "I discovered them in one of the abandoned settlements of the Woodmen, and had forgotten about them until now. I expect they were made for a boy some time ago."

The cloth of the tunics, shirts and leggings were rather rough, but she could probably wear some of the thinner linen underneath them. There was, however, no way she would be able to squeeze into the leggings with her long underpants on.

She thanked Delior and went back to the back of the cave in order to change into the dry clothes. As she had guessed, they fitted her excellently. Unfortunately, she had been right in her assessment of the leggings as well. In the end, she asked Delior for a knife, and after a lot of hacking and ripping, she managed to cut off the underpants-legs. It looked horrible, but it was either this or no underwear at all, which of course was out of the question. She had, after all, no intention of letting anyone see them. (What a thought!)

This way at least, it was only her legs that came in direct contact with the material of the leggings. Anne grimaced when she finally pulled them on. They felt as scratchy as they looked.

First, men's clothing, now boy's clothing! She really had to look a right state, with her hair an unruly tangle and not having had a proper bath since heaven knows how long ago. What would she not give now for a hot bath with a lot of scented soap, (or any soap, to be frank) and being able to brush her teeth.

On her third day at the cave, Delior had shown her how to use the twigs of a certain plant to clean one's teeth. (Or rather, if truth be told, she had watched him doing it several times, and finally asked what that was about.) The plant in question was a bristly, low growing bush of sorts, though it looked a little like a conifer, too. It was called _Luinêg_ in the elvish language, which according to Delior, could be translated as _Bluethorn_.

To Anne, the name seemed fitting since the _Luinêg_-twigs were indeed very prickly and of a silvery bluish-green colour. They tasted strongly of resin and a little of very sharp mince, and worked quite well if one did not mind having the mouth full of needles and tiny shreds of bark, afterwards.

Delior, who had shown a rare degree of tact and left the caves while Anne had been dressing, returned now, bringing with him a second horse - a long-legged, very dark liver chestnut.

The piebald nickered softly as Delior lead the horse up next to him.

Anne swallowed.

This looked very much like they were not going to walk after all. Of course, she had suspected this much when the elf had turned up with the saddle, but her brain had obviously refused to deal with this new piece of information until now.

Apart from not being quite sure how she felt about the idea of riding such a long way (or riding at all, for that matter), now that she _did_ think about it, she spotted another problem.

There was only one saddle, for when they had left from Carrockton, the piebald had been brought along as a packhorse.

.

When Delior came into the cave, pulling the piece of cloth from his hair and picked up the saddle, she hesitantly raised this problem with him. He nodded and stopped her with a wave of his hand.

"You can use mine. Dûrfang is taller than the _myrnim_, but they have both high withers and a similar built."

While trying to make sense of his words, Anne followed the elf back outside, where he handed her the blanket and stepped towards the piebald, once again talking to him in a low voice. Anne watched as Delior placed the saddle on the horse's withers, before gently sliding it rearward until it came to lie in the right spot.

Anne stepped to the elf's side in order to get a proper look at what he was doing. Perhaps she had stood too close for his liking, because suddenly he tossed his hair back over his shoulder in a rapid and somewhat impatient movement. It felt like getting hit in the face with a load of freshly laundered, still wet sheets. A faint scent of flowers and something spicy, like cinnamon filled her nose.

'The scoundrel _does_ have something to wash his hair with then,' Anne thought furiously, while sniffing and rubbing her face with her free hand as she was still clutching the blanket with the other.

Meanwhile, Delior had finished fitting the saddle and seemed satisfied. He took it off and motioned for Anne to hand him back the blanket. He then repeated the procedure from before with the blanket underneath the saddle. Finally, he went around the horse and inspected the hooves one by one, showing Anne how to clean them as he did so.

Anne watched attentively; this was actually rather interesting. She kept her distance however, (from the elf, not the horse) having learned her lesson.

**:::**

When their baggage - mainly consisting of a large stock of provisions, had been divided and stored in saddlebags on both horses, the sun had risen. Or rather, the sky had changed from deep grey to off-white.

Anne, standing next to her horse and clutching the reins, glanced up at the ominously deep hanging clouds albeit not particularly bothered with the weather. It appeared that the moment she had dreaded had come at last as Delior now came over and began unbuckling the stirrup straps. After he had shortened them quite a bit, he went past Anne to take her place next to the horse's head and gave her a nod, obviously expecting her to 'go ahead'.

All right. This could not be too hard surely, could it?

She stood next to the horse facing the saddle, while trying to keep an eye on both Delior and the horse's ears flicking back and forth.

Anne took hold of the saddle, but before she could do anything other than wondering how she was supposed to lift her leg up high enough to reach the stirrup, Delior had reached out an arm, grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around so she was standing with her back to him, now facing the horse's tail.

To her surprise, Anne found that she was now able to reach the stirrup with her left foot, if only just barely. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the back of the saddle and bounced on the ball of her right foot for a moment before with as much strength as she could muster, pushed off the ground. Perhaps she had pushed off a trifle too hard after all, for she almost went tumbling back down again on the other side. With some difficulty, she managed to find her balance and to swing her right foot over the horse's back.

"Now, lower yourself gently into the saddle," Delior told her, watching her struggle.

'Easy for you to talk,' Anne thought rebelliously, but still obeyed as best as she could. Then she sat up and fished around for the other stirrup with her right foot. Delior gave her a scrutinizing look as she shifted about in the saddle. At length he turned away, either pleased with what he saw, or giving her up as a lost cause (presumably the latter), and went towards the cave entrance.

Once Anne was assured that the piebald was not about to dash off with her any moment, she turned her head to see what Delior was doing. The elf had apparently covered the fire pit with sand or dirt, and now went to pick up his bow and quiver, both of which had been propped against the wall.

Anne timidly took up the reins, as Delior went over to where Dûrfang stood waiting patiently.

The elf leapt on the tall horse with seemingly no effort, took up the reins and turned to face Anne.

"Keep the reins slack for now. He will no doubt understand where to go. Let me know if something is the matter."

With that he turned the chestnut around and walked it down the slope, along the barely visible path that would lead them westwards into thicker forest.

And sure enough - as soon as the other horse started moving, the piebald followed him unprompted, and without hesitation. And a good thing it was too, for Anne was far too busy holding on to the saddle for dear life to be able to lead.

**:::**

Over the next couple of hours, Anne slowly became accustomed to the horse's steady movement underneath her. When she finally began to feel cautiously optimistic about the whole thing, Delior turned his head around and told her to 'stop cowering, sit up straight and let go of the saddle already'.

Reluctantly and with slightly shattered confidence Anne did as she was told. Soon she discovered that it was in fact a lot easier to balance if she tried to relax her lower body and match herself to the horse's rhythm rather than interfering with it and clinging to the saddle.

When hey had ridden for about five hours, they rested in a small clearing that was girdled by thorn-bushes. There was a small pond here, and since Delior wanted to use their water as sparingly as possible, they led the two horses to the bank to water them.

Anne, who had begun to feel increasingly sore a little while ago, was glad to be able to stretch her legs a little. Delior, however, appeared unwilling to linger for too long. Anne could not fail to note that he kept his bow slung across his shoulder and every now and then his eyes would dart up and search the fringe of the thicket that surrounded them.

In fact, Anne did not feel too comfortable either. Perhaps it was just the elf's unrest that made her nervous, but there was something odd about this place. The weather had not improved by a lot - it remained cool and a little windy.

The sky had brightened up a bit, and the sun was now almost discernible behind its thin veil of clouds. Yet this did not make this clearing appear more inviting.

The heavy afternoon silence did not seem peaceful, but rather oppressing and somewhat eerie.

In the centre of the clearing there grew a single tree.

It looked like it might have been hundreds of years old, if not older, and was gnarled and knotted. Also, somehow – Anne was not quite sure what it was that caused this feeling – it seemed almost – well, _unfriendly_ - if you could say that of a plant.

While Anne was staring at the tree and still munching unenthusiastically on some dried fruits, the elf stood and walked along the edge of the glade. There she could see him pause between the trees now and then, slender hands outstretched towards the trunks, his fingertips lightly brushing the rough surface.

Frowning, Anne watched him for a moment. What was he doing? The way he tilted his head from time to time, it almost looked like he was straining to hear something, but as to what that might be, Anne had not the faintest idea.

With a sigh, she turned to look around the clearing once more. Was it just her imagination, or did the thorn-bushes seem to be closing in on them?

But no, that was ridiculous - the bushes were growing close to the outer trees, and they were obviously no whit nearer than they had been before. And yet, there was something about those bushes that made Anne slightly uneasy. She looked closer at them, feeling not a little silly. They looked ordinary enough; dark wood with small, blackish, jagged leaves, and a lot of thorns. Several of them were bearing a number of small, scarlet berries.

They reminded Anne of something. But no - no, that was not right… it wasn't the berries…

"We should move on," Delior had suddenly reappeared next to her, and started picking up their packs with the food.

Anne, who had jumped at the elf's voice, scowled at him.

"I wish you would stop doing that," she muttered as she got to her feet, brushing dried leaves and grass off her leggings.

Delior ignored her reproach and went back to the horses to stow several leathern flasks he had refilled with water.

Soon they were heading off again. Anne, who had managed to get in the saddle a little better this time, kept glancing back towards the clearing which was still visible between the high trunks - the deep red dots of the thornbush-berries almost shining in the dim light.

"What is this place?" she asked Delior.

"It was used by the Drúath, I believe. Though to what purpose I cannot tell you," the elf said, glancing back, as well. As he saw the puzzled look on Anne's face he went on:

"Drúath is what we call the Woodmen in my tongue. The people who settled in this forest besides the elves."

"So, they live nearby?"

"No," Delior said, turning away. "Not anymore. But you shall see one of their villages tomorrow."

He fell silent after this and Anne, not daring to ask what had happened to the Woodmen, followed suit.

**:::**

As the day progressed, Anne gradually felt more at ease, and even felt brave enough to use her upper thighs in order to prevent herself from sliding about in the saddle so much.

She no doubt still rode like a sack of turnips, but still, it was progress.

She suffered a bit of a setback when Delior ventured to let them trot for a while; whatever she did, it seemed to be impossible to sit still at this pace. Anne could not help noticing that Delior, despite not using a saddle, was sitting on Dûrfang's bare back as if glued to it, without ever losing one iota of his poise.

To Anne's relief, they soon fell back into a walk, which gave her the chance to settle back into the saddle properly. Then she watched as Delior reined back his horse until she was level with him.

Anne groaned inwardly and braced herself. She was fairly sure that she was about to be either berated or scoffed at. Therefore the elf's following words came as a bit of a shock.

"Did you dream last night?"

She stared at him. If he had grown a second head right here and now - she probably would not have been more amazed. Finally, she found her tongue again, although not her wit, it would seem.

"What?"

"Did you dream something? I only ask because you were talking in your sleep."

Somehow, Anne had very bad feeling about this.

"I… I did?"

"You did," he confirmed smoothly, his face impassive. "Mainly a lot of incoherent muttering and moaning…"

Anne felt her face heat up, while racking her brains. What on earth had she been dreaming about?

"…You also cried my name," Delior continued helpfully.

Anne glanced up at him, utterly mortified.

"Ah… are you sure?" she croaked.

"Several times," he said, his tone pensive.

He was enjoying this! There was not the slightest hint of a smile on the elf's face, and yet there was no doubt about it, Anne would have betted anything.

Oh, he was horrible!

Suddenly however, (and to her immense relief) Anne remembered what she had been dreaming about.

"Ah, yes! The marsh…it was a nightmare…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"I was in some sort of marsh," she hurried to explain. "…And I was bogged down, and – yes – you were there too - somewhere in front of me. I called out for you to help me, but you kept walking…"

He gave her a very slight nod and slowly let his gaze drop before turning his head to look forward again.

Anne could tell that he did not believe her. That arrogant fellow probably though that she was having inappropriate dreams about him. What a thought! Him, of all people! The least charming or infatuating person one could imagine…

"Do they ail you often? The nightmares?"

Anne looked up. She could not see Delior's face, as he was once more a couple of steps ahead of her. His tone had been light and seemingly unconcerned, but she was on her guard now. Why the sudden interest?

"Not, that I could remember them," she said slowly.

The elf remained silent for a minute or two, and Anne had just started to relax, thinking that he obviously must have lost interest on the matter, when –

"But perhaps it is not the dreams you are unable to remember, but rather the things you dream about."

Anne narrowed her eyes at his back, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

"That sounds pretty much like one and the same thing to me," she said cautiously.

"Indeed," he said quietly, still not looking at her. "And yet I should think that there is a vast difference between forgetting about your dreams and forgetting about you life."

For a few seconds Anne felt utterly mystified – then understanding shot through her like a bolt of lightning.

_He knew_. Probably had known for a while, it would seem.

Presumably he had heard her gasp, as he now turned his head to look at her.

"I was right, it appears."

"But… how…"

He turned back forward.

"I sense it from you," he said, his voice indifferent. "A feeling of forlornness that goes beyond anything a person – even if lost – could possibly bear. And yet there is no pain to it, no grief."

'That was why he did not trust me, and why he believed me to be one of the altered people', Anne thought dully. 'I must have appeared very odd to him indeed, if he speaks the truth.'

"You never asked to be taken home, or even spoke of it, whereas you seem to know of the place that you came from," the elf went on. "On the other hand, you were so worried and anxious for the villagers from Ecthel, even though you cannot have known them for much longer than a fortnight. Glorfindel shared my impression. Also I believe that you suffered a blow to the back of your head quite recently. There still is a faint scar underneath your hair…"

Anne's hand flew to her head. How the hell did he know that?

Evidently her mistrust had been plainly reflected on her face, for he made an impatient sound as he now glanced back at her.

"You spent several hours unconscious in my arms, and even back at the cave you did not wake up for another day and a half."

Oh yes, right. She had forgotten about that. Or rather tried to push in to the very last corner of her mind.

"There were a number of other things that I noticed – small matters of little importance mostly, but strange nonetheless. My guess is that you have no memory of anything that happened before your arrival in Ecthel."

Anne remained silent for a few moments. Then she sighed.

And then she started to talk.

She spoke about everything, or at least the little that she knew and that he had not already, and rightly, guessed. About waking up in the dark room in the _Rolling Barrel,_ about her confusion and frustration at not being able to remember, or be more helpful to the people of Carrockton. She told him of Liecia, Nesta, Odo and Nardil, and everyone else she had met,

about the attack on the Ashgrove house in the middle of the night, and how terrified everyone had been. She told him about not being able to remember the name of her dead brother.

She also talked about how unreal her situation seemed to her at times, about her feeling of isolation and of somehow not belonging.

Frankly, Anne had no idea why she was telling him all this - her sanity and reason were obviously going down the drain. She could not see the elf's face, therefore she had no idea whether he was even paying attention, but she kept talking nonetheless.

It was deeply peculiar, but as she spoke, a weight she had not even realised she had been carrying, seemed to be lifted from her, bit by bit.

Then, all of a sudden, there was nothing left to be told, and they rode in silence for a while.

Anne, feeling somewhat empty, wondered briefly whether Delior now thought her to be completely off her tree. Finally, he turned his head around to look at her, his face as impassive as ever.

"Have you noticed how much better you are carrying yourself now? While talking, you forgot about feeling insecure, and unknowingly adjusted yourself to the movement. You seem much more at ease and confident than you did less than an hour ago."

Anne stared at him. _That was it?_ She had been pouring her heart and soul out to him – admittedly without being asked to do so – and spoken of several, quite traumatic experiences, and all _he_ thought to do was commenting on the improvement of her riding skills? She supposed it _was_ sort of nice of him to mention it, though.

Suddenly, she felt a mad and completely inappropriate urge to laugh. It had to be the bizarreness of it all. She tried in vain to suppress it – merely causing it to come out as a very unladylike snort and a rather hysterical giggle.

It was his turn to stare now, even if more subtly.

"I… I'm sorry," she gasped, still unable to stop chortling between the words, "I just… it… I suppose… if you think about it… it is sort of funny…"

Delior frowned and turned back forward, and whilst softly spoken, Anne could clearly hear his next words.

"…Very odd sense of humour."

She had to admit he had a point.

**:::**

**III III III**

[AN: I just read through this again, and it occurred to me that Anne might seem a little too bolt or flippant towards Legolas, but please keep in mind that she hasn't the faintest clue who he is. For all she knows, he could be some weirdo (elf or not), who lives like a hermit in some cave in the middle of the woods. His behaviour so far doesn't exactly scream 'kingly' either, especially now that she has met Glorfindel.

This part is pretty long, (which will probably cut into the length of the next one), but somehow I was unsatisfied with the initial chapter-ending (when they leave the clearing), and so it went on, and on… anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! :-) ]


	12. Just Another Day in the Wood

**:::**

**III III III**

It was well after sunset when they finally stopped to make camp for the night.

At least Anne assumed that it was, since there had been no visible sunset, to be exact. The sky had merely grown steadily darker, while shadows had begun to creep out from under trees and thickets. Anne had indeed been wondering whether Delior intended to rest at all. She had been under the impression that the elf was looking for something (or perhaps the lack of something) for at least an hour or so and had near given up hope, when at last he brought Dûrfang to a halt beneath a grove of towering beeches and announced that they would stay here for the night.

"… Or what's left of it," Anne muttered to herself as she wriggled her numb feet out of the stirrups, while Delior, who had had already jumped off, released his horse from its bridle.

With a moan Anne slid out of the saddle. She ached all over; particularly her backside felt like it was about to fall off. All she wished to do right now was to slump down, preferably onto something soft, wrap herself into a blanket and stop moving altogether - possibly with a hot drink within arm's reach. But, of course, none of this was an option at the moment, as she had to unsaddle and brush off her horse. Since there was no stream anywhere nearby, they had to water them using part of the supplies they had brought along. Once the horses were seen to, Delior sent Anne to go and collect stones for defining the fire pit.

She had gathered a small pile already when Delior, who had been busy collecting and chopping up firewood, took a glance at them and told her that they were far too small.

Finally the elf showed mercy (or perhaps he had reached the conclusion that he might be faster without her 'help'), and Anne was allowed to sit down. As she was squatted down on the hard and slightly damp earth, leaning against a tree trunk, she caught herself fantasising about being back in the shelter of the cave. Resentfully she looked over at Delior.

He had not even had a saddle, and yet she was the one feeling all stiff and achy. Admittedly he was used to it, but still - it was rather unfair, she thought.

Anne began to watch him for any signs of sore muscles. Just then, the elf gracefully leaned forward to lift up one end of a heavy looking, thick piece of branch and snapped it in two by stepping on it.

Ah, he was hateful, really.

Her lower body felt like someone had repeatedly kicked her in the stomach. At the same time, the pain in her back appeared to be increasing even as she was thinking about it.

All things considered, it took Anne quite a while to realise what was wrong. Only when Delior had managed to build and light the fire and offered her something to eat, it dawned on her that sore muscles usually did not go hand in hand with losing one's appetite.

Realisation hit her then. Hard.

She gasped, causing Delior to look at her, and then hastily waved her hands at him.

"Ah – nothing … I … should …" she vaguely gestured towards the thicket to their left, and got up, using the tree behind her as support.

Delior's eyes followed her, his brows knitted together slightly, as Anne grabbed her saddlebags and stiffly made her way through the trees.

She did not dare to go too far; apart from being afraid of losing sight of the fire it was like stepping into solid darkness. Anne was not able to see her hand in front of her face once she had turned her back on the firelight and walked a couple of steps. As she crouched down behind a tree all she could think was 'No, no, no, no … _oh,_ _please, no_!'

She should have thought about this! Even if it was 'false alarm' right now (and everything pointed to the opposite) she still would have to deal with it - since it was bound to happen sooner or later. Her current condition indicating sooner rather than later, however.

Anne cursed as she rummaged through her bags; Of course there was nothing even remotely suitable as a sanitary pad. With a frustrated groan she finally pulled out one of the two long undershifts she had eventually opted to pack. She ripped and yanked at the seam until it came apart. Then, with much difficulty, she managed to tear off a couple of smaller stripes.

Realising that, once folded, they would be too small she continued tearing apart the cloth.

Anne briefly considered going back and asking Delior for a knife, but, as he probably would have asked what she needed it for, she decided against it. After a while she found that severing the parts was a lot easier when she tore at a certain angle, but it still took a lot of strength and soon she had cramps in her fingers from pulling so hard.

When she finally returned to the fire, Delior raised an eyebrow – no doubt his way of commenting on the length of time she had took – but, thankfully, said nothing. Anne was in quite a mood by now, and if he chose this moment to start sneering at her, she was not sure that she would be able to remain civilised. Presumably not.

But Delior left her be. The expression on his face had darkened slightly, and he seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. For once, Anne was glad that she was being ignored and not being paid the slightest attention or spoken to. She curled up under her blanket with her back to the elf, using one of the packs as a cushion.

Little stones, and even worse, roots were digging into her shoulder, arm, leg and hip, as it seemed impossible to find a spot where there were none of them sticking out of the ground.

Nevertheless, or so she thought to herself anyway, (as have thought a lot of others, no doubt) she would happily put up with all of these unpleasantries if only it had not been for the pain in her abdomen and back.

It was, perhaps, not a surprise that Anne got next to no sleep at all that night, although at some point she must have drifted off a little, if only out of sheer exhaustion. All she knew was that one moment it had still been dark, and next she became aware of a hand slightly shaking her arm; jerking her eyes open she found that she was blinking into greyish twilight.

Anne felt little better than the night before. The pain had not subsided by a lot, and she dimly wondered how it had not woken her up before. Moaning, she turned around, nearly rolling into the fire which, fortunately, had gone out a while ago.

How she was supposed to get on a horse like this, not to mention riding for hours at a time, Anne had no idea.

She heaved herself into a sitting position, slightly wincing, and looked around bleary-eyed.

Both horses were nearby and busily ripping off leafs from the lower hanging branches, as there was obviously nothing palatable to be found on the ground anymore.

Delior was nowhere to be seen. Anne, deciding that sitting around would not help in any way, staggered to her feet and went to fetch her water sack, and then began to roll up and pack away her blankets and furs. Then she tried to restart the fire. She had seen Delior do it several times and, vaguely thinking that the warmth might do her aching back a lot of good, she decided that it could not be that difficult and went to work.

It turned out that it was very difficult indeed.

Delior had left the little pouch in which he carried around the powder and the stones that were used to start the fire, and although, theoretically, she knew how this was supposed to work, Anne could hack away with the fire stones all she liked: she did not manage to produce as much as a spark. After a while of fruitless and thus very frustrating banging the stones together, she heard a tutting noise behind her.

"Oh dear, what _are_ you attempting to do? The wood is too damp. Now, give that to me if you wish not to hurt yourself."

The elf took the stones from her hands and packed them away.

"There is no time to restart the fire now," he continued as she looked at him sullenly. "It would be unwise to linger here for too long."

Anne sighed and let her head sink on her knees as a new wave of pain shot through her abdomen, now even accompanied by a little nausea.

'Wonderful,' she thought darkly. 'Just wonderful … Of course there is no time, and of course we have to leave right now … without breakfast, mind you.'

Not she was very hungry, but that was beside the point. She was not sure whether she wanted to know, _why_ exactly it would be unwise to linger. When she looked up again, she found that Delior was watching her.

"Are you unwell?"

"What? No! Just tired," she said, perhaps a little too hurriedly.

"You did not eat anything last night."

"I am all right." Anne felt her cheeks flush. Not that she minded him for once being concerned or worried (although it looked rather like mild curiosity on his part), but now, of all times! That was just what she needed: him suddenly being over attentive and – heaven forbid! – starting to investigate her current indisposition.

"So what is the matter with your stomach?"

Anne straightened up at once. "Nothing! I am quite well, I assure you. Probably stiff from the riding."

He looked unconvinced but, blessedly, left it at that, and went to ready the horses.

Once they were off, Anne was glad that she was riding behind him once more. Not only could she rely on the piebald to follow Dûrfang everywhere without hesitation, she was also able to double up in the saddle all she liked most of the time, without being told to 'sit straight' or 'relax her lower body'. At the moment, she could well do without any of that.

After about half an hour, Delior suddenly stopped, dismounted and vanished into the underbrush without so much as an explanation. Anne stared after him, wondering what in the world was going on. 'Probably call of nature,' she finally decided, and she would have found the thought rather amusing if she had not felt so miserable.

Delior returned after a minute or two, carrying a couple of branches with long, pale, greyish-green leafs. He went over to Anne, picked off one leaf and handed it to her. She stared at it, then, mystified, looked back at him.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?"

"Chew it," he replied, while walking back to Dûrfang, where he stored the branches in one of his packs and leapt back onto the horse.

Anne frowned at the leaf. "Er … I thank you, but … I am not _that_ hungry."

"It is not for eating, but to ease your pain."

Anne felt her face heat up again.

"Only chew it until it has lost all flavour," the elf told her. "It tastes a little bitter; usually the leaves are boiled and the decoction then sweetened with honey. Do _not_ swallow the leaf - you would deeply regret it."

'Now, hearing that really makes me want to put that thing into my mouth,' Anne thought, but murmured an embarrassed "Thank you", before doing it nonetheless. She nearly gagged.

It _did_ taste bitter and then some. If Delior thought of this as _a little, _the sensibility of elvish taste buds left much to be desired.

Not really having another option, Anne pinched her nose and, with a death-defying look on her face, started chewing the leaf.

Delior slowly shook his head at her behaviour, and urged Dûrfang into a walk once more.

**:::**

The mysterious leaf, even if utterly vile in taste, turned out to work wonders. Within a few minutes, the pain started to lessen already, though Anne did not notice it at first.

After about an hour it was practically gone. Anne made a mental note to ask Delior what this plant was and where to find it – no matter how embarrassing the topic might be.

She was still in some discomfort, and she was hugely embarrassed when she had to ask Delior to stop so she could, her face glowing like the setting sun, dash into the bushes and check on her improvised 'pads', but, all things considered, she felt a whole lot better than she had before.

Around midday they rested for a while, though, once again, Anne got the distinct impression that Delior was very anxious to carry on, even if his face did not betray any emotion.

In the afternoon it began to drizzle, and Anne was very glad for her fur-lined cape, which at least kept out most of the rain.

It was already late in the afternoon, perhaps an hour before nightfall, when they passed the village of the Woodmen that Delior had mentioned the day before.

Anne stared at the group of huts and blockhouses just visible between the trees on their right, as now dusk was setting in.

Even from their distance and despite the dim light it was obvious that the village was long forsaken.

The houses looked withered and desolate; the windows and doorways dark holes, like gaping mouths or empty eye sockets. There was no shimmer of light behind any of the windows, no rising smoke, and not the slightest sound to be heard.

Remnants of a palisade or picket fence that once must have surrounded the entire village were sticking out of the ground like rotting teeth, blackened and decaying.

"It is a death place," Delior said quietly, startling Anne with his soft voice.

Anne looked at the elf; he had turned his head and was halfway facing her while gazing at the houses. His eyes looked very dark and there was a sudden deadness in them that sent a chill down her spine.

But then the moment had passed; he looked round to see her staring at him, and then turned back towards the path and spoke in his usual quiet tone:

"If we ride on, we shall reach the edge of the wood not long after nightfall."

Anne felt her heart lighten at the thought, even if it meant another short night. She did not know what lay ahead of them, and although she could imagine that a lot of it would be difficult and very possibly even dangerous – right now she was content with getting out of the forest as quickly as possible.

**:::**

As Delior had predicted, they reached the fringe of the wood shortly after nightfall.

It was, however, so dark that it made hardly any difference. Moon and stars were veiled with clouds and the only thing indicating that they had finally left the towering trees of the Eryn Lasgalen behind was the slightly different feeling and smell of the air they were breathing - a little fresher and less still and stuffy, perhaps.

They had dismounted and were leading the horses over the grass-covered ground. By now it was pitch-black, and Anne wondered how long it would take her to step into a rabbit hole or walk straight into a pond.

She had barely completed the thought when Delior announced that there was a small grove, half-encircled by rocks, straight ahead of them, and that they were to make camp there. Anne squinted as hard as she could and saw nothing but a few dark, vague shapes, and even those only because the elf had pointed them out to her.

They could not make a fire; while they had been relatively sheltered from the rain inside the forest, here in the lowlands the ground was wet and there was no dry wood to be found.

They ate a cold and frugal supper and then had no choice but to settle down for the night in complete darkness.

Anne rolled out her bed a lot closer to Delior than she normally would have done, and then lay there for a while with her eyes open. She could just make out the ghostly shape of the elf's tall figure sitting next to her, one pale hand resting on his leg, its skin reflecting invisible starlight from behind the clouds.

Her last coherent thought was that she would never be able to sleep.

Then exhaustion took over; her eyes slid shut and everything faded into an even deeper darkness, filled with the faint calls of night birds and soft, melodic voices singing in strange tongues.

**:::**

III III III

**AN: ** I know it's generally thought that elves ride without bridle or saddle, and I seem to remember that in _The Two Towers_ Legolas asks the Rohirrim to take saddle and bridle off the horse he's given by them. However, in the _Fellowship of the Ring _it says: 'You shall ride my horse,' said Glorfindel. 'I will shorten the stirrups up to the saddle-skins, and you must sit as tight as you can. I think there was something about 'bells on the harness' also. ;)

Fact is, saddles are not only a lot more comfortable for the rider over long distances – but on a long-term basis they are also better for the horse's back, since there is no direct pressure on the spine and the rider's weight is dispersed more evenly. (Yeah, no matter how perfectly balanced elves might be)

So in the end I opted for Legolas to at least own one, even if he doesn't always use it.:P

As I said before, this one's shorter, since the last one was so immensely long … Next part will be longer again, I promise. : )


	13. Of Turnips, Decorum and Other Worries

**:::**

**III III III**

In the morning Anne saw that the grove they were in was little more than a small cluster of gnarled and weather-beaten trees, and appeared to be an outlier of the great wood that now lay behind them. Before them stretched wide grass-lands and heather-covered slopes, dotted with brambles and clumps of trees here and there. There was a greenish brown line that wound its way from north to south, sometimes disappearing behind hills or beneath small copses: The river Anduin. And the lands before them, so Anne had learned from Delior, were called the _Vales of Anduin_. Although from the place she was standing now, the country looked like a series of many small hollows and little hills, it was really one single and very long valley, which ran along the river from its source in the north to the _Bay of Belfalas_ in the south and stretched for several thousand miles.

Further to the west the land seemed to become more hilly, the colours changing to a hazy brown, dark green, and, every now and then, the slate grey of bare rock. Beyond the hills, looming against the pale sky, Anne could see the mountain chain – tall, dark and forbidding.

It was still very early, and mists lay thick in hollows and in small valleys; yet it did not look like they would be any more fortunate with the weather than they had been during the previous days. The air was cool and smelled of rain. Nevertheless, it was nice to see the horizon again, Anne thought as she packed away her bedroll, while gazing at the mountains.

She had slept surprisingly well, despite the lack of a warming fire, and now felt a lot better and much more rested than she had for the last couple of days. She actually was looking forward to getting back in the saddle again. First, however, there was a bit of a problem that needed solving. Anne really wanted to change her clothes before they headed off, and she had no mind to get undressed in front of Delior (again), if it could be avoided.

The meagre, crooked trees did not exactly provide a lot of privacy. There were a few bushes about, but they were so sparsely leaved that they offered little visual cover either. Indeed Anne had snuck behind one of those in the very early (and thus still dark) hours of the morning, in order to answer nature's call. Doing it in broad daylight, however, was quite a different matter.

Anne sighed and looked over at Delior who had gathered some wood and pinecones and the like, and was now piling them up in a small hollow. Considering how keen the elf's sight appeared to be even in the middle of the darkest night, it probably mattered little what she did and when she did it. Not that she suspected him to peek at her; he did not exactly seem the type. And after all, he had on more than one occasion told her in no uncertain terms that he had absolutely no interest in her in _that_ regard. Anne was still slightly irked by the memory of that first conversation with him, or of the time when he had shown her where she could take a bath.

He did not have to be quite so disdainful in his remarks, did he? Not that she _wanted_ him to … want anything, but it was the principle of the matter. Whatever he thought of her puny, mortal appearance - rubbing it in every chance he was presented with was not the gentlemanly thing to do. Well, to be fair, perhaps he did not exactly rub it in, but he could make an effort to appear less … incurious.

Anne was sure, if she were to start wandering about naked his reaction would probably consist of frowning and telling her to put on some garments, so as not to catch 'one of those tedious, mortal diseases'. It was a good thing she did not care. Why did she even think about it, Anne thought annoyed. No doubt her hormones were getting the better of her, but at least she could wish _that_ particular inconvenience good riddance in a couple of days.

In the meantime she had no choice but to handle this as best as she possibly could. During her first visit behind the bushes this morning, she therefore had pondered a little on the uncomfortable question of how to deal with her used 'pads'. At last she reluctantly chose to just bury them. Anne was well aware that, if she kept doing that, she would run out of disposable cloth at some point, but right now there simply was no other option. Even if there had been a stream or a pond nearby and she thus had been able to wash out the rags, she would have no means of drying them. She could only hope that they would soon come across some sort of running (and sheltered) water, since her clothes and especially her underwear needed washing as well. Once they had arrived in Bree she might even find someone _female_ who could perhaps advise her on how to deal with this a little better.

Discussing it with the elf was of course absolutely out of the question. Anne briefly pictured herself doing just that, and sniggered at the thought of his lofty visage falling, his eyes widening … perhaps he would even blush! It might well be worth the embarrassment on her part.

On the other hand, he might just as well remain completely unfazed and - heaven forbid - launch into some lengthy and typically male, practical advice on the matter.

Anne stopped sniggering immediately, and glanced over at Delior, who, at this moment, happened to look up from the pile of dead sticks and cones he was trying to ignite.

She hurriedly turned her back on him before he could ask her what she was giggling about.

Back to the problem at hand. In fact, now, since he was busy with the fire …

Anne cast another glance in Delior's direction; he was once more bent over the pile of wood.

'Now or never,' she thought. Grabbing her bags, she scurried over to one of the larger bushes and then quickly hid behind it. Better she got this over with now, while he was occupied with something else.

By now Anne had a fairly good idea of how much the elf perceived from his surroundings, even at times when he did not seem to pay a lot of attention to it. She rightly guessed that he was completely aware of what was going on behind him, and her hiding behind bushes therefore pointless, yet she felt that she should at least maintain a pretence of decency and dignity. In any case, this was better than having him standing with his back to her and waiting, tapping his foot or making impatient noises.

So, while keeping an eye on the elf's bent back (though it has to be said that he did not even once lift his head), Anne quickly stripped off the travel-worn clothes and then just stood there for a moment, relishing the feeling of the cool, clean air on her skin.

As she pulled out spare garments from her bag, she became aware that she was yet again in dire need for a bath, or at least a proper wash. Until they came across a stream, neither was a possibility of course. The only other option would have been to use their drinking water. Anne did not even want to imagine what Delior's reaction would be if she tried anything like that. Although, judging from how often he had turned up with wet hair while they were still at the cave, he probably craved a bath nearly as much as she did.

Thinking about it, she suddenly realised that – even if they soon came to a river - now that they were out of the wood, it would be rather difficult to find a spot screened enough to have some privacy. Further, Anne suspected that Delior would not care much about privacy - which made her dread the prospect even more. She had to make sure to have him warn her before he stripped off while she was anywhere in the near vicinity. She did not, of course, trust the elf to do something like that out of lasciviousness, but rather because she was so insignificant to him. After all, there was no cave here where he could conveniently command her to stay, while he was going about his 'business', and she could not really imagine him acting all bashful and asking her to leave for a bit, so he could undress and take a bath.

Surely he would not strip bare in front of her if it could be avoided, but somehow Anne did not think that he would mind terribly if she got an accidental _glimpse_ of him (even if _she_ did mind).

Anne sighed, and while closing the last button on the neck of her tunic, she decided hat she was once again getting ahead of her own problems (which were admittedly not very dramatic either), and that she would just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

When she, clad in clean clothes, came out from behind the bushes, she found that Delior had somehow managed to kindle a fire. He looked up and beckoned to her, before turning back to the small kettle he had hung over the fire pit, pouring some water into it from one of the bottles. When Anne reached him he handed her a small knife and told her to cut up the vegetables.

"'Vegetables?'" Anne asked as she took the knife from him, sure she must have misheard.

The elf pointed at a piece of cloth spread out on the ground next to him. Laid out on it were a couple of shrivelled yellowish roots, something that looked like some sort of turnip, and two reddish-brown, apple-sized balls.

"You want to _cook_ something? Now?" Anne picked up one of the spherical-shaped brown things; its skin was rough, pebbled and slightly chapped like old tree bark.

"We may not find wood dry enough to make a fire tonight," Delior replied and looked for a moment at the western sky. "Hithaeglir is hiding its many heads. It will rain again."

Anne followed his glance at the mountains whose peaks were cloaked by heavy clouds. 'Wonderful,' she thought gloomily. 'If this goes on I will soon have no dry clothes left.'

At least, it appeared that they were going to have a warm meal for the first time in almost a week. The 'vegetables' did not look mouth-watering exactly, but Anne just hoped that she could trust Delior to know what he was doing. She sat down next to him and took the turnip, which looked like it would be easiest to work on, and began to try to peel it. Delior, who had been poking about in the fire, looked up and, upon seeing what she was doing, he waved a hand at her.

"There is no need to peel it," he said, once he had her attention. "The skin can be eaten. Just slice it into as thin of pieces as possible. I fear that it passes my skill to coax this damp heap to burn hot enough for a meal to turn half agreeable." Delior peered into the somewhat feeble flames and then into the kettle, frowning slightly. "It cannot be helped. It is a pity that there never is a dwarf around when one is in desperate need of their service," he muttered.

"A dwarf?" Anne asked surprised.

"It is said that they can make a fire almost anywhere out of almost anything. Please hand me those if you are done with them."

"Should we not first wash these?" Anne doubtfully examined the roots that she had picked up next, and then waved it at him.

"I washed them before I packed them. You may scrape off those dry spots as well, if you can manage it without cutting off too much of the flesh. And try not to cut yourself either," he added with a doubtful look at the way she held the root close to her face and started attacking it.

Anne rolled her eyes, though she made sure that he did not see it. "Understood. And I _have_ handled a knife before, by the way. I helped quite a bit in the kitchen of the _Rolling Barrel_ in Ecthel, and I did my fair share of potato peeling too, if you want to know."

"Not particularly," the elf said, but his tone was mellow and without derision.

Anne returned to her slicing with another roll of her eyes, though she thought she had caught the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly, just now. She had just taken one of the strange brown vegetables when Delior spoke again.

"While you were in Ecthel, did you meet a woman by the name of Nesta, daughter of the house of Núneldor?"

Anne looked up at him in astonishment. "Nesta? Yes, of course! Well, I would not know her family's name, but I know a woman named Nesta from the Inn. She was one of those who…" But Anne could not finish the sentence. She had been meaning to say "one of those who stayed behind", but somehow the words got stuck in her throat.

"She was one of those I shared a room with during my stay there," she said instead, carefully keeping her gaze on the elf's hands. "And she was most kind to me."

Anne watched as Delior's hand paused midway from shoving another stick into the fire, and when she glanced up at his face she found that he was looking at her searchingly. She quickly lowered her eyes to his hands once more. She did not last long, however, and after a few seconds she looked up at him again, not able to overcome her curiosity.

"Why do you ask? Do you know her?"

His eyes held hers for a brief moment, before he answered, dropping his gaze back to the fire.

"No, I do not know her. I knew her father."

Anne frowned. "You _knew_ her fa-" then she caught on and quickly closed her mouth. "So … he was not from Ecthel?" she finally asked.

"No," the elf replied quietly. "He was one of the descendants from the Men of Westernesse. I doubt he ever set foot into the village."

There was something final in the way he said this, and Anne knew that he did not wish to speak any more of it. Therefore she fell silent and went back to her work, while wondering if it had been Nesta's mother who had taken her to Ecthel, and what might have happened to her.

**:::**

The vegetable stew, after all, turned out to be a lot better than what Anne had expected, and she felt strengthened and refreshed when they set off. They had not eaten all of it, and Delior had filled the rest into a few of the empty bottles to take it with them.

They made their way now steadily westwards, as far as Anne could tell, although the mountains did not seem to draw any nearer during this day's march, nor during the next. To Anne's great discontent Delior had been right about his assessment on the weather as well as on the fire-making, and for three nights in a row they had nothing but cold supper and breakfast, and were forced to make camp in the dark and with no means to warm up themselves or to dry their damp clothes. Although the rain remained a light drizzle, and sometimes would stop for a couple of hours, Anne began to feel like there was no dry spot left on her body.

They talked little when they settled down in the evening, but Anne was still getting used to riding for long hours with only short breaks, and therefore usually so exhausted that she did not mind the elf's reticence all that much. During days she had to concentrate on the riding itself, especially at the times when Delior decided for them to trot or even canter whenever the ground conditions allowed it. They never did that for very long, as the ground was marshy in some places, and also not to tire the horses too fast.

To her surprise, Anne found that while cantering, it was much easier to sit still and match her horse's rhythm. Sometimes, Delior would let Dûrfang fall back, until they were riding side by side, which the piebald did not seem to like very much. Delior then would explain to Anne how to use her thighs and weight shift to keep the horse from simply halting or trying to stay behind Dûrfang. He also would correct her seating every now and then, and he showed her how to hold the reins properly. Bit by bit, Anne developed a sense for how to keep a consistent but gentle feel on her horse's mouth.

She also decided that she had to give the piebald a name after all, but could not really think of anything suitable. It also still felt odd to name a horse she probably already had named some time ago. In the end she asked Delior what the word for 'fleck or 'spot' would be in his tongue. It turned out that there were several words with slightly varying meanings for that in the elven language as well, and the most fitting seemed to be '_peg_'. Therefore 'Peg' was the piebald's name from thereon.

On the afternoon of the second day after they had left the great forest, they reached the eastern bank of the river. Anne found her worst fears realised, for there were almost no trees or shrubbery about at this section of it. The pebbly ground fell slightly towards the riverbed, but not very steeply. A bit of fern and high grasses grew on the river-bank, two or three slender birches and a lot of thistles and nettles – and that was it.

This could get very interesting, Anne thought, far from pleased. She was sure that Delior would not want to linger about for too long, which meant that she probably had only a couple of hours to make up her mind. However, for now at least, she was given some respite as Delior told her that they should cross the river first and then make camp on the western bank.

The riverbed was broad here, but the current slow enough for them to ride through it. They dismounted to lead the horses down the slope, but got back on them for the actual crossing. Anne was astonished that Peg seemed to mind walking into the water much less than Dûrfang. While obediently following Delior's gentle spurring, the stallion held his head as high as possible and puffed and snorted with his ears pinned back.

At the deepest spot the water reached the horses' chests, so their riders could even avoid getting wet feet. When they reached the opposite bank Dûrfang made a leap out of the water and onto the bank, which, Anne was sure, would have hauled her right into the river.

After seeing to the horses, Delior said that they had better wash their things and bath now; it would take some time to dry the clothes, and they probably would even need a fire for that.

Anne's nerves began to build at his mentioning of bathing, but she nodded glumly and went to gather her laundry. Washing the clothes in the river was rather hard work and Anne somehow managed to get the clothes she was wearing nearly as wet as those she was trying to wash. What was more, the water was bone-chilling cold; that was probably to be expected, but it still shocked her and made the prospect of having to dive into it even less inviting.

She had deliberately chosen a spot some distance away from Delior; she really did not need him to see her waving her underwear about in the water. Once done, she wrung out the soaked cloth as best as she could and went back to their camping-place, where Delior had already spread out several of his things over the low bushes. Although it was still light, he had already made a fire, as Anne was relieved to see. At least she would be able to warm up again after being frozen half to death.

"Do you not want to go and wash?" Delior asked, looking up from a bag he had been rummaging through. "I do not mind the dark, but you should make use of the daylight."

Anne sighed, but agreed with him that it would be rather dangerous to stagger about in a river after dark. Thus, after having finished spreading out her own clothes (the undergarments as discreetly as possible on the side of the bushes, not facing the fire), she armed herself with a folded sheet of linen and a blanket. Before heading towards the river she turned back to Delior, who was at the moment unbuckling the long knife sheath from his belt.

"You … will stay here?" All right, she was stalling now, as well as being paranoid.

Of course Delior completely – and probably deliberately – misunderstood her question. He tilted his head as if weighing a proposal, while balancing the knife on the palm of his hand.

Anne, belatedly realising how her question _could_ have been understood, smelled the proverbial rat and quickly turned to bolt, not particularly keen on hearing what he came up with. She was not quick enough, though.

"I daresay that the possible alternative – apart from being fairly inappropriate – would not be to your nervous liking," his clear voice rang after her as she stalked off.

**:::**

**III III III**

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* * *

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**AN:** My apologies for the delay in updating, life has been a little crazy last week.

There is not much to be said about this chapter, save, perhaps about the short 'cooking-conversation' between the two, in regard to the Núneldor-Part. It might seem that I have heaps of characters popping up, only to then let them vanish into thin air, but I can promise that they ALL will turn up again at some point /menacing grin/

or at least, it will be explained what happened to them. In fact, I'm really looking forward to tell the stories of quite a few people, apart from the main characters (Which still need a lot of storytelling also, I realise).

Next chapter, we will have some _actual_ story-telling (meaning, not me being the storyteller), as well as a meeting with an old acquaintance, both of which I am ridiculously looking forward to. :)

My most cordial thanks for the very kind reviews to the last chapter; they are the best motivation!

And as always, thanks, danke, dank, merci beaucoup, tak, tack, gracias and grazie to everyone who is reading this story. :-D


	14. Tales in the Dark

**:::**

**III III III **

As it turned out, Anne did not need to have worried. When she returned from the river she was once again given the task of slicing vegetables (at this point she also began to wonder, how much of the stuff they had packed), while Delior, armed with his bow and quiver, went off towards a small copse where he soon vanished between brambles and ash trees. Perhaps an hour later he returned, a dead partridge dangling from his shoulder. He started preparing the bird, and Anne realised that he intended to wait until nightfall before bathing himself.

Her own experience in the river had been every bit as cold and uncomfortable as anticipated. She had adjusted to the water temperature a little better than the last time, it was true - probably because she at least knew what was coming - but it still had taken less than ten minutes for her to lose all feeling in every part of her body that was under water.

She had repeatedly trodden on sharp stones, slipped on slick moss covered rocks, or got her numb feet tangled up in seaweed. All the while she had been ducking or crouching, in her fear to be seen from their camping place. She had been quite alarmed by the fact that she could still make out the glimmer of the fire – although she had not been able to see the Elf in the deepening dusk.

For want of a brush, Anne had scooped up some fine sand from the bank and scrubbed it all over her body before washing it off again. It had not been the most pleasant experience one could imagine, but at least she felt clean now. Near the bank she had found a plant that might have been mince, as well as a couple of other herbs with a sweet fragrance, whose leaves she had ground between her fingers and then tried to rub her skin with them, and even rubbed some of it into her hair.

Yes, perhaps it might seem vain (also, only as an afterthought it had occurred to her that she might very well get a nasty rash from them), and Anne probably would not have cared so much, if she were travelling with some unwashed, slovenly and stinking fellow, but as that was not the case she felt that she had to at least make a _little_ effort. Delior did not make an obvious fuss about his appearance – in fact, most of the time he gave the impression that he could hardly care less, especially if Anne compared him to Glorfindel, who was after all the only other Elf she had met.

Delior's long hair was unbraided and most of the time unbound, though sometimes he would tie it back while riding or occupying himself with things such as fire-making. Whereas his clothes were rather worn and, as Anne had noticed on several occasions, mended it many places, they were not shabby; indeed, all his garments were of fine weave and texture, as far as she could tell, and yet they bore no embroidery of any kind. Also his bow, quiver and other gear were plain and unadorned, save for the knife sheath on his belt, which was engraved with a pattern of intertwining leaves. However, all in all, Anne strongly suspected that the Elf looked a lot more groomed than she did, and that did not exactly contribute to her self-esteem.

So now she was sitting in front of the fire with prickling skin, clad in the driest clothes she had been able to find and also wrapped in a blanket. The vegetables that she had cut up were already merrily simmering away in the pot and were soon joined by the partridge, which Delior had gutted and carved. Anne was incredibly thankful that he had done it by himself and at some distance from her.

Now he was sitting with bare forearms opposite her on the other side of the fire and was … working on something; Anne had no idea what exactly it was that he was doing, but it seemed to involve soaking long, string-like objects in something that appeared to be an oil of sorts, then rubbing the oil off again with a rag, before winding them up on a small wooden spool.

Usually this would have been the time of the evening when Anne became so tired that she nearly fell asleep wherever she was sitting, but since they had made camp much earlier than they normally did, she still felt wide-awake and almost a little restless. She had long since discovered that, whenever she was not either completely exhausted or otherwise occupied with something, she found herself wondering and thinking about this and that while her thoughts were wandering freely.

This was not a good thing.

Those thoughts tended to address questions and memories which she usually managed to keep somewhere in the very back of her mind. Anne had learned to hate these rare, quiet moments of musing. She did not want to think about certain things, or ask herself the same questions over and over again. Most of all, she did not want to think about the day she had left Carrockton. Each time her thoughts timidly approached the memory of that afternoon, she instantly felt like something very cold and very heavy dropped into her stomach, while her chest appeared to be drawn together by invisible ropes.

Therefore, right now Anne was doing something she would never have done under normal circumstances: thinking of a way to attempt a conversation with her companion. As a matter of fact, there was something that she had been meaning to ask him, but she was not quite sure how to best approach it, as Delior had not appeared all too keen on the topic the last time he had talked about it.

A couple of minutes of silence passed, only disturbed by the crackling of the fire and the low bubbling of the kettle. At last, Anne cleared her throat.

"Delior?"

He looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the flickering light.

"Can I ask you a question?" Anne asked, feeling timid for some reason.

The Elf's eyebrows drew together almost indiscernibly. It might have been an expression of annoyance, just as well as one of curiosity.

"I suppose you can," he said evenly.

Anne swallowed - her mouth felt rather dry all of a sudden. How did he do that, she wondered irritably. He could make an art out of it.

"A couple of days ago … when you asked me about Nesta …" she faltered a little when she saw his eyes narrowing very slightly, but decided to stand her ground and hurriedly went on, though she kept her eyes on the fire. "You said that you only knew her father, and that he had never been to Ecthel, but ... was that before she was born? I mean – how long had you known him?" She glanced up at him, mainly to make sure that he was not about to leap at her any moment. He was still looking at her with narrow eyes, and his lips had gone rather thin, but he did not exactly seem angry.

"I had known him for almost fifty years," he said after a small pause. "And no, I never met his daughter nor any of his family. Are you satisfied?"

No. No, she was not satisfied at all. Fifty years! How was that possible? How old exactly was he? Sure, that was a bit blunt a question, but she probably would have asked him anyway, (and in fact had already opened her mouth to do so) if his voice had not been so clipped, and the expression on his face not quite so cold. So, she shut her mouth as he went back to oiling the strings. She had wondered about this before. True, his age was hard to guess, though from his face she would not have thought him to be more than five to seven years older than herself – which would put him in his very late twenties or early thirties. So, if he had not been pulling her leg just now …

Although Anne's attempt of conversation had been more or less nipped in the bud, it had served the purpose. She was so preoccupied with trying to wrap her mind around the concept of elvish aging (or rather the lack of it) that she did not once think about the departure of Carrockton during the whole evening. And when, several hours later, Delior muttered something about not going to be long and that she should not wander off somewhere in the meantime, before he disappeared into the darkness in the direction of the river, she barely even noticed.

**:::**

After the crossing of the Anduin, three or four more days of travelling passed in more or less the same manner. Half a day after they had left the Great River behind, they came across a second, smaller stream - the Gladden River that has its source in the Misty Mountains and flows eastwards until it meets the Anduin. As it turned out, they would ride alongside the Gladden for several days. Anne felt both relieved and annoyed by this, since it meant that she would not have needed to worry so much about the Anduin being her last chance of having a proper wash and bath for a long time.

The scenery changed little until they reached the foothills of the mountains, where it became difficult to ride. They had left the marshy grasslands with its mud, reeds and small pools behind, but now they had to climb hill after hill, which seemed to become steadily higher and steeper, and for a while they made only very slow progress. It was a clear but cool evening when they finally reached the feet of the mountain, where they began to follow a narrow twisting path that wound its way upwards and around steep slopes. They soon had to dismount once more, as the road (If one would call it that) was often halfway blocked with debris or small boulders.

Anne was not sorry that she had to walk. It had taken only a couple of hours for her to decide that she did not like serpentines very much, and this way she at least was a little closer to the ground. Twice it almost looked like they might not be able to get the horses across particularly large and treacherous heaps of slip rock, and Peg had to be persuaded for several minutes to step over a rather narrow crevice.

Night had fallen already when they found a spot that was to some extent sheltered from the wind. On first sight it appeared to be a mere rock overhang, but was in fact almost a small cave, reaching about ten feet into the mountainside. Anne thought that it looked like someone from long ago had started to dig a tunnel and then given up halfway through the task. Delior declared that this was a better protection than they could have hoped for, and so they unsaddled - at least in Anne's case - and made their camp underneath the rock shelter.

Much to Anne's annoyance Delior refused to make a fire, "so as not to attract unwanted company", therefore she had to grope her way about the small cave, trying to roll out her blankets and make her bed in the pitch-black darkness.

She had just finished, and was about to settle herself down, when she felt something small and not very heavy drop into her lap. For a moment she though that Delior might have thrown her something, which was after all a habit of his, and reached to pick it up.

Her fingers closed over something small, about the size of her thumb perhaps.

Something that moved.

Something scuttling and crawling with many little legs, tickling the inside of her palm.

With a gasp, Anne violently flung her hand in order to shake it off – whatever 'it' was.

"What is the matter?" she could hear Delior's voice somewhere to her left; the Elf had no doubt not only heard her gasp, but also seen her reaction.

"I – I don't know," Anne muttered, still shaking her hand and closing it a couple of times to make sure that there was nothing on it anymore. "Some kind of insect, I thi-" but the word caught in her throat.

She felt something crawling up her arm – _inside_ her sleeve!

With a squeal she was on her feet and began staggering around, groping at her sleeve in panic. She felt something moving under the cloth – it did not feel quite so small anymore – and she began to scream even louder as she could not shake it off, wildly waving her arm about.

Suddenly she felt her forearms being grabbed and pulled apart; somewhere at the edges of her consciousness she was aware of Delior's silhouette towering in front of her, just visible against the sky outside.

"What in Eru's name has gotten into you?" he hissed at her.

"AAAAAAAAH! It's ON me AAAAH get it off, GET IT OFF!"

Delior seemed to be asking her something, but Anne did not hear him, did not even try to listen to him - nor would she have been able to respond at this point. She squirmed in his grip, desperately trying to free her arms. When she felt the crawling legs tickling her somewhere down her shoulder and towards her chest, she lost her head completely and attempted to aim a kick at the Elf in order to get free.

Apparently Delior lost his patience with her at this point, because he pushed her rather unceremoniously to the ground. Anne barely noticed being shoved, but she _was_ aware of being held down, which, in addition to everything else, was enough to nearly send her into hysterics. She now perceived the crawling sensation somewhere beneath her breastbone, and with a wail she – at another time - would not have thought herself capable of producing, she struggled madly and tried to rear up.

"Where _is_ it?" Delior demanded, his voice raised in order to be heard over her screaming.

"WHAAAA! Aaaaiiiiiii, I don't AAAAAAH TUNIC-"

Without further ado, he reached under her tunic, his fingers swiftly pushing up under-tunic and underwear, and Anne screeched a couple of octaves higher upon feeling his hand on her skin. Within several seconds it was over. His hand slid over her stomach, to her side and over her ribs where it closed on something; he drew it back - there was a sickening crunch - and then he threw something to the side.

It took quite a bit longer for Anne to be assured that the _thing_ was indeed gone. When Delior let go of her, her heart was hammering like mad and she was shaking all over. Still panting, she scrambled into a sitting position. She had no idea why, but she was close to tears, and also she had calmed down enough to begin feeling faintly embarrassed about her performance.

"I have never seen anyone behave quite so histrionically," said Delior, who, by the sound of it, now sat down against the cave wall once more. "You nearly scared away the horses. Every living creature within this stretch of the mountains must have heard you."

"That … that was disgusting …" Anne muttered, feeling irritated that her voice still sounded so shaky.

"It was only a bug."

"_Only_! It was huge!" she moaned.

"You did not even see it."

"Perhaps not, but I _felt_ it, and-" she paused, nearly gagging at the memory. "And it just fell from the ceiling, too …"

"That is precisely the reason why I did not want to make a fire. They would have come in swarms …"

Anne shook herself and got to her feet. She had no mind to lie down in that corner again. Who could tell how many more of those bugs were still lurking here somewhere. Afraid of staying in one place for too long, she stumbled to and fro in the darkness, until Delior hissed irritably, his patience obviously wearing thin again.

"Will you go to sleep already! Or at the very least, stop wandering around and sit down."

"I cannot sleep," Anne said, though she did stop her 'wandering', not wanting to provoke him into slamming her onto the ground again. "And I will certainly not lie down over there again." Should he think her foolish all he wanted!

"How can you be afraid of something so harmless?"

"'Harmless …'" Anne echoed faintly. "That is really not the point!" she sighed and gave up on explaining this to him. She shuddered, remembering the feel of the insect underneath her clothes … which lead to the memory of his hand underneath her clothes, and she shuddered again.

"Oh dear, this is ridiculous," she heard his exasperated voice. "Fetch your blankets and come here."

Anne stared at him (or at least in the vague direction of the spot where she thought he was sitting). "Why?" she wanted to know, feeling – to her great annoyance – her heartbeat quickening again. What was she afraid of? He was not going to hurt her!

"So I do not have to shout," the Elf said in response to her question. He hardly would have needed to shout, even if she had been at the other end of the very small cave, but as he sounded rather irritated she refrained from arguing and did as she was told. He was silent for a minute or two, and she had began to wonder what kind of harangue she was about to be given, when he, at length, spoke with a sigh.

"I shall tell you a story, you will listen quietly and calm down, and once I have finished, you will sleep."

She just gaped up at him. Apart from the idea of him telling her bedtime stories being rather … strange, to say the least – did he really believe that it was that simple? However, her curiosity won.

"What is the story about?" she asked while huddling up and hunching her shoulders so as to provide as little target as possible for potentially ambushing bugs. After another moment of silence, Delior began to speak in a low voice.

"A long time ago, long before the great war, a small creature with the name of Smeagol came to these mountains. He had not simply left his home-"

"I am sorry - what kind of creature?" Anne broke in, thinking this a very vague description. For all she knew, the Elf might be regarding her as a 'small creature'.

"In those times the name of their race was a different one, but nowadays one would refer to them as Halflings – or Hobbits, as they call themselves. Now, do not interrupt me anymore."

Anne quickly shut her mouth to prevent the next question from tumbling out. She had the distinct feeling that he was watching her in the darkness, but she could not even see whether his face was turned in her direction. He seemed satisfied with her silence, however, since he went on:

"As I said – Smeagol had not simply left his home, but had been banished by his people. Terrible things had happened; some of them to him, some of them because of him, and some terrible deeds he had done to others. So, he was forced to leave, and for many long years, darkness, greed, hate and fear should be his only companions."

Anne began to doubt if this was really a story meant to calm people or cheer them up, but listened, enthralled all the same.

"And yet he found refuge in the never ceasing shadows deep under the Misty Mountains, where he dwelled on a small rocky island amidst a black lake, hidden from the world he had learned to hate. Smeagol did not have those caves and underground passageways to himself however, but had to share them with Orcs, as one of their greatest dwellings happened to be underneath these mountains."

"Orcs?" Anne spluttered, forgetting about not interrupting him. Well, he had used past tense, so that sure had to mean that this was not one of their dwellings any more, had it not?

"Yes," Delior said. "And although Smeagol feared the orcs, he often managed to trick them, and not seldom a young orc would end up serving him as a meal."

Anne's jaw dropped.

All right, definitely _not_ a bedtime story.

"Many, many years later, in a far away land, another Hobbit set out for a great, adventurous quest, accompanied by thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard."

Anne could not help but laugh. That sounded so much more like a fairytale.

"It so happened that their road led them to these mountains. One night, they sought shelter from a thunderstorm inside a cave not unlike this one … and there they were ambushed by a large group of orcs, captured and dragged away." (The smile died from Anne's lips almost instantly.)

"The company offered resistance however, and during the ensuing turmoil the Hobbit got separated from his companions. For a while he wandered through the darkness, lost and alone, and near giving up hope to find his friends ever again.

There, in those dark and desperate hours, he came across the underground lake – and he met Smeagol. The other Hobbit, never guessing that he was in fact face to face with one of his kind – however distantly related - told Smeagol of his ill-luck and of losing his companions. But for Smeagol, who had, by then, grown very old and very mean, the Hobbit was barely more than an exceptionally good dinner. He was wearing a little sword at his belt though, which frightened Smeagol. Therefore he offered a bargain; he challenged him to a riddle competition, promising that - if the Hobbit should win - he would show him the way out of the tunnels, but also announced that he would eat him, should he, Smeagol, win instead.

It turned out that they both had some talent in the game chosen, and for a while, either of them was able to guess the answer to the other's riddle easily. But then, Smeagol became impatient and hungry, and so he tried hard in order think of something as difficult as possible – this is what he came up with:

_This thing all things devours:_

_Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;_

_Gnaws iron, bites steel;_

_Grinds hard stones to meal;_

_Slays king, ruins town,_

_And beats high mountain down._

And the Hobbit could not think of the answer, no matter how much he –"

The Elf broke off in mid-sentence. Anne looked up at him, but could, of course, see nothing but his silhouette dark against the starlit sky outside. She immediately thought of orcs, or other evil little creatures creeping up at them, and she wanted to ask him what was wrong, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, he made a shushing noise.

Then she heard it too; a low, strange wailing, like the howling of wind, ebbing away every other second, only then to flare up once more – far too regular to be the sound of wind, or even the cry of some beast.

Anne suddenly became aware that she could feel her heartbeat almost in her throat. Within seconds, the sound died away, but they both remained silent for several minutes. Just when she began to feel like she could not take it any longer, Delior spoke again – his voice very low and somewhat deeper than before.

"It is very far away."

Anne wondered whether he, too, had heard it before, and if he associated it with the same sense of terror that she had felt for an instant just now.

"There is no need to worry at the moment," he went on. "Though perhaps we should be quiet for the rest of the night. You should try to sleep"

"All right," Anne muttered, and then, in a weak attempt to ease the sudden tension, she added: "But it is a shame, really … that story was in fact getting interesting. I cannot help but wonder how it ends."

Delior apparently did not appreciate the sentiment.

"Well, what do you think?" he said, a note of petulance in his voice. "The Hobbit could not solve the riddle and got eaten. Now sleep."

**III III III**

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**AN:** The riddle-quote is from _The Hobbit_ by JRRT, and I have of course no rights on it whatsoever.

In case anyone wonders how Legolas would be able to recount Bilbo's adventure so accurately and even know about the riddle in question – he was, after all, present at the council where Bilbo told the story in full length, and – I quote – '_did not omit a single riddle_' -)

As always: Thanks to everyone who is following this, and especially to the reviewers!


	15. The Other Side

**:::**

**III III III**

Delior's tale had accomplished one thing after all: Anne did not spend another thought on bugs that night. It still took a long time for her to fall asleep though, and when the Elf roused her, she felt like she had barely closed her eyes.

The sky was a pale blue and the sun – though barely risen – warmed Anne's face as she stepped out of the cave. Despite the short night's rest, she felt her spirits rising. 'Nothing like a bright morning to lift the mood,' she thought, unable to keep a smile from stealing on her face. Maybe she could get used to this after all. In the pale light that now fell in through the entrance, she was able to explore the small cave a little more thoroughly. It was rather unspectacular, and – to her great relief – she did not come across a single bug. In a corner she found, neatly stacked, a small pile of dry wood, however. Delior said that it probably had been left by other travellers rather than by the 'original occupant of the cave' ("Honestly, girl …"), presumably Rangers, who were known to patrol these regions.

Anne asked him whether it would now be safe to make a fire, but he was hesitant - explaining to her pointedly that it would be unwise to draw any more attention to their presence with the rising of smoke. Anne bit her lip, rightly guessing that he was referring to her performance from last night. She then watched him as he climbed the cliff like a chamois and, at a height of perhaps twenty feet, paused to turn and gaze around, not even bothering to hold on to the rock or the dry weeds and yellowish grass that were sparsely growing here and there.

He looked quite impressive, standing there on the scarp - appearing ridiculously tall (even more than usual, that is), with his hair blowing in the slight breeze and his sharp gaze cast into the distance. No doubt, had anyone seen him, they would have thought:

What a heroic sight!

'What a show-off!' was all Anne thought though, still being a little sore from his reminder of last night. It was easy for _him_ to talk. He obviously wasn't bothered by the prospect of creepy crawlies the size of … well a couple of sizes to big at any rate, wandering about underneath one's clothes.

Probably a caveman through and through, just like she first had suspected.

The 'caveman' - or cave-elf, if something like that existed – returned from his impromptu observation point and announced that they could risk making a fire. During breakfast (which consisted mainly of cold vegetable stew and overripe blackberries they had found the previous afternoon) Anne's mood improved again. Delior made a strange herbal tea, also using some of the blackberries. It tasted quite good, Anne had to admit, and after drinking it she felt refreshed and somewhat much more awake than she had before. She had seen him mix in some sort of brown, clumpy powder as well, but had no idea what it might have been. Perhaps that was where the spicy taste came from.

Once they had finished their meal, Anne went to find the little creek that could be heard burbling down the slope (and probably would meet the Gladden River at some point), in order to do her morning toilet. When she returned a quarter of an hour later, Delior gave her an odd look; she suspected that she simply had yet again taken too long for the noble master's liking. Therefore she paid him no mind, but walked over to the horses and began to saddle Peg – which she was now finally able to do by herself. It was probably due to her concentrating on the task at hand that she did not hear him approach rather than him actually bothering to walk soundlessly, but whatever the case might be - Anne gave a horrible jerk when, upon turning around to go and fetch her blankets, she found him standing right behind her.

"What in …!" she gasped, reflexively yanking up her arm, and then glared up at him.

He said nothing, but grasped her by the wrist and pulled her arm in front of his face.

"What … are you …?"

"You smell of _Hûdâl_."

Anne stared at him. "I'm … sorry …?" she said frowning, not really knowing whether this was an insult or a compliment."

"You should be."

So much for that ...

"Yes …" He lowered his head a little and breathed in. "Yes, certainly Hûdâl – or _Dog Feet_ - in your language."

Anne yanked her arm away from him, hid both hands behind her back and - only to be on the safe side - also retreated a couple of steps before he could tell her that her hair smelled like a horse tail, or anything along those lines.

"Ah, well - I am glad we … talked about it," she said, seething.

Rude idiot.

"It is a plant," he clarified then. "I assume it was one of the herbs which you used on your skin and hair."

"How … how did you –" she spluttered.

"Oh, it was rather obvious; not only the scent on you, right after you came back from the river, but also that of the herbs you took with you in your bags."

"I thought they would not smell so intensely after they had dried up a bit," Anne muttered, turning away from him to finally get her blankets and skins from the ground, but mainly so he would not see her red face. She was sure that it was red.

"Not for a human nose, perhaps …" The condescension in the Elf's voice was almost corporeal. "You should wash it off," he said over his shoulder as he began to get Dûrfang ready. "It was probably the scent of the Hûdâl that attracted the insect."

Anne made a noncommittal noise while packing up her bed. Why did she feel so … busted? Certainly that flowery scent of _his_ hair was not natural either? Oh dear, she really hoped it was not. The world was an unfair place. Had she really though she could get used to this, a mere half an hour ago? For sure …

**:::**

Since the road was in such a bad condition, they made only slow progress at times, though Delior seemed to be confident that the path would improve on their way down from the pass. Anne did not find that comment very helpful as she was scrambling along behind him. After all – they would be going downhill then, it had to be at least a little better, had it not?

It was their third night in the mountains with little shelter and no fire. An icy wind was blowing Anne's hair into her face, no matter in which direction she turned her head. She could not sleep. The moon was almost full and shone brightly. Every now and then it would be veiled by rapidly passing shreds of cloud, but that only appeared to add to the general feeling of disquiet. Finally she dozed off, but woke again only minutes later – or at least so it felt to her. Turning around, she saw that Delior was gone.

This did not at once overly alarm her, as she was sure that he had to be somewhere nearby. Anne assumed that he was feeling as restless as she was herself, and therefore had probably taken a walk. However, when she waited and waited and he did not return, she began to feel a little anxious. Anne hated to admit it, but she knew that she would never be able to fall asleep again, while he was gone.

With a sigh, Anne worked herself out of her blankets and stood. She checked on the horses - they stood calmly side by side, shielding each other from the cold wind – and then began following the path down a little slope, where it seemed to disappear between thick growing brambles and low, windswept pines. As a matter of fact, there were only two directions in which the Elf could have wandered off, and by chance she had chosen the right one.

She heard him before she saw him.

Of course, this alone would have been enough reason to wonder, but the fact got sort of lost in the whole situation, and therefore Anne did not really marvel at it the way she otherwise might have. It was a gasp that reached her ears first, followed by a muffled thud. Suddenly the moon reappeared from behind another wisp of cloud, casting its cold light on a scene that caused the young woman to freeze in place. For a moment it felt like it had frozen her blood as well.

The Elf was crouched on the ground, his head bowed so low that his face was hidden behind a curtain of long hair. His hands, looking ghostly white in the moonlight, were resting on the hard earth, his long fingers spread. Anne could see his shoulders and back moving, as if he was breathing heavily.

Later, she would not remember whether or not she had made a sound or a movement. Perhaps he had simply sensed her presence. Whatever it had been - he slightly lifted his head, though she could still not see his face. Then, very slowly, he got to his feet; Anne felt the sudden and strange urge to retreat as fast as she could, but her feet appeared to be rooted to the spot. Finally Delior looked up at her; his face looked like that of a skull in the sharp contrast of the moonlight and its shadows.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was harsh, but apart from that, it sounded – and Anne had no idea why she felt so relieved by this – the same as ever.

"I … I woke up, and … you - you were gone, and … I waited, but –" Anne began to stutter, but was interrupted by him grabbing her arm and dragging her the way back she had come.

He was less than tender with her; Anne whimpered a little as her arm hurt in his grip, but her protest remained rather feeble. For the first time in a long while, she was scared of him. Delior only let go of her when they had reached the face of the cliff where their camping place was.

"I told you to stay here and not to wander off," he said in a low, but still harsh voice to Anne, who had stumbled a little after suddenly being let go and was now straightening up.

Strictly speaking, he had told her no such thing – at least not today (though, admittedly, on many other occasions) – and Anne was just about to defiantly remind him of that when she saw the look in his eyes - and quickly dropped the idea.

"You were gone," she said instead. "I could not sleep, and since you did not return for quite some time … but is that really the problem here?"

There was a small pause before his cold reply came. "And what would the problem be?"

She just stared at him for a moment. Had he not been there, too, just now? What was he playing at? Was he perhaps about to suggest that she had imagined it all? Surely he could not expect her to just sweep this under the table!

Despite her indignation the following words took all the courage she could muster.

"Something is wrong with you! You cannot deny …"

Due to the moonlight Anne had no difficulties seeing his eyes, which looked almost black, narrowing even further, the anger in them very clear for once. She would not have minded a little clouding over, right about now.

"I assure you, nothing is wrong with me." His voice was an icy wisp.

Anne could not believe it. Was it possible that he, for some strange cause, did not remember anything? But, no – the only reason he was so angry with her was because she had found him there. She had often stolen away from their camping places before, and, in search of a secluded spot, sometimes walked much further. He had never blinked an eye then.

"I saw you!" she finally said. "How can you say –"

Anne had not even been sure what she was about to ask but it mattered little, since she found herself deprived of her personal freedom for the second time this night. Now with the added comfort of having her back pressed against a solid and rather jagged wall of rock. Very obliging.

Before she could do anything other than look up at the Elf in shock, he lowered his head until they were almost on eye level and spoke, his voice deepening with every word, while his fingers were painfully digging into her shoulder.

"Never follow me again. And do not speak of things you know nothing about."

Anne winced in his grip. The apparent effortlessness with which he held her against the wall scared her, but at the same time she felt defiance rise in her. Was it _her_ fault that she knew nothing about … anything? He certainly did not help the 'problem' by practically never talking to her. She knew it was probably extremely stupid to provoke him even more, but she could not help herself. Maybe it was the thrill of him finally showing some emotion, or maybe she was just prone to belligerence.

"You never sleep," she whispered shakily.

For a second he seemed perplexed by the apparent and sudden change of subject.

"What?"

"Never … even when sometimes I lie awake for hours, I never see you sleep ... ever. And I did not need to follow you anywhere to notice that."

He let go of Anne and turned away, leaving her feeling as if a door had been slammed shut in her face. Whatever had happened - it was over. He was back in control, the mask was back on. His voice when he answered her was bare of any emotion.

"We do not require sleep like mortals do, we are able to rest in different ways."

"Well, you do not look very _rested_ to me either," Anne said promptly, wondering whether being slammed against the rock had somehow affected her clear thinking and sense of self-protection.

He turned his head to look back at her, and in the deceptive moonlight it almost looked like there was a derisive smile on his lips … as she had never seen him smile and therefore had nothing to compare, it was hard to tell.

"You worry about me?"

All right, the tone _was_ derisive.

"No! I mean, …" Did she? Technically she had no reason to, it was his business what he did to himself. "I don't know, perhaps … It is just – anyone could tell that something must be troubling you, and I … I understand if you do not want to tell me anything …" 'although any halfway civilised person would make a little more effort …' "… but you could at least explain –"

The Elf stopped her with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I do not need to explain myself to you," he said coldly. "This is not a situation I would have chosen if it was in my power. I do not wish for your company, nor for your compassion or pity. And believe me – you do not wish to know any more about me."

**:::**

Anne still felt angry and humiliated when they set off in the morning. After those last withering words of Delior she had not dared to say anything else, but followed his example of maintaining a deafening silence. (Though in her case it was probably rather a sulky silence.) Mostly she was angry with herself for even being offended. That was actually the crux of the matter -

Why did she care?

For some reason she felt rejected by him, and that was ridiculous, so she told herself. Just because he did not want to share his strange and dark secrets with her, why was that a big deal? They were, after all, not exactly friends. No, not only 'not exactly', but _most definitely_ not friends. And he was right (about one thing); she did not want to know anything about him, anyway. They would not be together for much longer, so why would it matter - what would be the point? Was it, perhaps, because it felt easier and better to think about him than about herself? That would be the only at least acceptable explanation for her irrational feelings …

Needless to say, Anne spent – contrary to her inner declarations - most of the day in a sullen mood. Delior was cool, indifferent and unapproachable – in other words, he was being his usual self. And yet …

Anne could not put a finger on it, and it might very well have been her imagination, but – somehow – the atmosphere seemed different. Later, Anne would sometimes wonder whether her discovering Delior that night and the following 'conversation' might not have had another, or stronger influence on their relationship (the term being arguable), if it had not been for the event of this afternoon.

The scenery had become gradually greener; matted undergrowth and thorny bushes fringed their path, and even the meagre birches and crooked maples made for a nice change. They had reached a spot where the thickets almost formed a hedge, when Dûrfang suddenly gave a loud snort and baulked. Delior talked calmingly to the horse, until it stood still.

"Wait here," Delior said, without turning his head. Then he urged Dûrfang into a walk again; while still puffing nervously, the stallion obeyed, and the pair of them vanished between the high bushes.

Feeling a mix of puzzlement, annoyance and a little bit of fear, Anne steadied Peg, who seemed reluctant to stay behind after the other horse had left.

Delior did not take long however. Soon he reappeared from behind the thicket, motioning for Anne to follow. She looked at him questioningly.

"It is safe," he said by way of explanation. "Come now, there is no other secure path down these slopes."

Anne rode after him in utter bewilderment. What was safe? Why would they need another way down?

A minute later she knew why.

As soon as they had passed the last sprawling scrub, Anne could see that they had reached a small, open space. Several tents and awning of varying sizes had been erected on the grass- and moss-covered ground. It seemed completely deserted; the remnants of fire pits could be seen here and there, as well as, for some reason, bundles of cloth and old sacks. It was deathly quiet. Anne noticed a strange, sweetish smell. She stared down at one of the sacks. Something greyish-pale was visible under the dark material … it was a human hand.

She felt horror and nausea build up inside her and gasped, clapping a hand in front of her mouth as she gazed around and realised that what she had thought to be bundles and sacks were, in fact, bodies.

"What … what happened …?" she muttered from behind her hand.

"Wood Men … they were ambushed here, it appears." Came Delior's calm reply.

"By whom?" Anne suddenly remembered the strange sound they had heard during their night in the little cave. Delior had said it was far away, then.

She swallowed, feeling like she was trying to gulp down something very large and hard. "Them … the altered …"

The Elf turned to look at her for what seemed like the first time that day. His gaze was as quiet as his voice, though there was something searching in the grey eyes.

"Yes … I think."

Delior cast a last glance around. "Come, " he then said, urging his horse forward.

Anne followed, trying not to breath too deeply and deliberately kept her eyes away from the bundles on the ground. They had just left the last tent behind them, when something bright red caught her eye. It was so strange because she had not seen the colour for so long, otherwise she probably would not even have looked.

It was not the red of blood. There _was_ a lot of blood, but it had long dried and was not red anymore.

The woman was lying on her back, her arms tied above her head, which had lolled to the side. Someone had wrapped a coarse piece of cloth around her face. A few strands of auburn hair had escaped from underneath the linen and were gleaming in the afternoon sun. The top of her dress had been crudely ripped open, and her white breasts were exposed, or rather what was left of them. The whole chest was covered in deep gashes, as if someone had tried to carve something into the flesh. The skirt was shoved up around her waist, and her legs were spread unnaturally wide. The inside of her thighs and the ground underneath was rust-coloured. And there, between the woman's legs were the bright red spots, Anne had seen out of the corner of her eyes: Berries, scarlet-red berries on a long, thorny branch. Bound to it was a feather, like some grotesque caricature of a flagpole.

"Anne!" Somehow Delior's sharp voice penetrated her stupor. Slowly and disorientated she looked up at his alarmed face. "Come," he said again, more urgently than she had ever heard him speak. He then gave another sharp command – judging from the fact that it was in elvish, it was probably directed at Dûrfang – and sure enough, both horses fell into a swift trot. Anne turned her head to look back, but the gruesome sight had already disappeared behind the shrubbery. Soon they were forced to slow down to a walk once more, as the ground became steeper again.

Anne barely noticed it – barely noticed that they were moving at all. Her brain seemed to be numb with shock. Or perhaps not … at least it was alternating between showing her a very clear image of what she had just seen, and replaying another scene that seemed so long ago … herself lying on the ground in the forest with strange men surrounding her, bending over her, holding her down … ripping at her clothes, forcing her legs apart …

Anne's thoughts were working like a clockwork. 'The altered ones … that dead woman … that might have been me … could have been me … it _would_ have been me, if Delior had not … if he had not …'

She felt strange. As if something very heavy was pressing down on her – it made it hard to breathe, to think clearly. Dimly she became aware that they had stopped, and that Delior had half turned his horse and seemed to be looking at her. Without a word – her throat felt so tight, surely she would not have been able to speak anyway – she slid out of the saddle and - was she staggering? – walked a couple of steps away from the path and into the underbrush. There she paused – black spots were dancing in front of her eyes – and held on to a gnarled little tree, while trying to calm the ragged gasps that she only now realised were coming from her.

The heavy thing now seemed to be inside of her, squeezing her lungs together for a change. Why did it feel like she was breathing only in her throat? She was not supposed to, she was sure; there was no room … no room…

There was a sound behind her; turning, she saw that Delior had followed her into the copsewood. At the same time she felt something run down her cheek and automatically raised a hand to wipe it off. Why was she crying?

Her first attempt to speak produced no words, but merely a weak, squeaking noise, so she swallowed a couple of times and tried again

"Than… thank you …" she finally managed to press out.

The Elf stood there mutely, calmly holding her gaze. At length his eyes wandered away from her face, as if seeking something distant, and then snapped back to her.

"We should not linger here," he said quietly, in a tone he had never used while speaking with her before.

Anne felt nothing but numb surprise at suddenly leaning against him; she had not noticed how her knees had given in … had barely realised that she had stumbled forward. She was aware now of his chest moving almost unnoticeable, and his slow heartbeat - somewhere next to her right temple - but not of much else.

He stood quite still, made no move to touch or to comfort her in any manner, but he did not back away either.

She was unable to stop the flow of her tears, but somehow, drawing deep, calming breaths, she managed to remain silent – for that seemed important for some reason. The dying remnants of her dignity, perhaps, or a final thread of composure… composure she needed to keep her hands at her sides - balled into fists in order not to cling at his shoulders for dear life.

His hair fell on her shoulder and lightly brushed her cheek, as he tilted his head. She felt his warm breath on her forehead when his gentle voice reached her ears.

"I thought I told you to wash off that dreadful scent."

"I tried," she half sobbed, half whispered.

She felt his warm hands close around her fists.

**III III III**

**:::**

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**AN: **God, I don't think I've ever uploaded anything this early in the morning (late night doesn't count), but I'm off to a very rainy Denmark and wanted to update before leaving.

About that scene in the camp with the dead woman – I know it's a lot darker than anything we had so far, and you may be sure that I will not make that a habit from now on, but it had to be shown. For one thing I wanted to make clear what people are up against, and for another, it's necessary for Anne to face what she experienced herself. At least I think I'm still within my rating… :-/

I actually debated with myself whether or not I should place a warning at the beginning of the chapter, but I couldn't have done that without putting up a major spoiler. Therefore I apologize in case it offended some people's sensibilities.


	16. Flowers, Faults and Hailstones

Anne felt odd. Considering where she was, what the circumstances were, and who she was with, this might not exactly make the news of the month, but she felt … odd in a _good_ way. If someone had asked her what was so different from before, she would not even have been able to tell them – but something _was_ different.

Oh well, so today she had - without any prior warning – found herself in the middle of the scene of a small genocide, followed by seeing something that still filled her with horror if she came even close to thinking about it, (and which could probably provide the material for a couple of year's worth of nightmares) only to then recall a memory that presumably had been suppressed for a good reason. Not to mention her complete breakdown in front of Delior right afterwards.

She must have been in quite a state, since she could barely remember leaving that spot, getting back on her horse, or how they had gotten to this small pine grove, which Delior had chosen for their camping place. And yet, now she was sitting here under a tree (that was past his best), shivering slightly in the cool breeze that smelled of resin, and without even a hot drink to warm her hands, and she felt almost … light-hearted?

If that was not a reason to question her own sanity, then she did not know what was. Perhaps she was still in shock. The only other explanation for her peculiar state of mind that she could come up with was that facing those horrific things had somehow put everything a little more into perspective. Maybe her subconscious mind somehow knew that she was now able to look forward. Even if, at the moment, that prospect was not the most inviting.

Speaking of looking forward … Delior was sitting opposite her, leaning against his own tree and gazing into space. And there was another thing that caused her to seriously doubt her rational thinking. Not the Elf's behaviour - which was after all another well-known habit of his - but the course her thoughts appeared to pursue when he was their subject.

She needed to remind herself of the fact that she had been snarled and sneered at by him, that he probably felt nothing but condescension or at best pity for her, and who had told her this and other unpleasantries more than once. Apparently he was mentally unstable, or had at least some very serious issues, which made him completely unpredictable and therefore probably even dangerous. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had slammed her with what had felt like at least half of his strength against a rock.

Anne was in fact surprised that she seemed to have emerged from that experience relatively unscathed. She had a couple of bruises on her arm where he had grabbed her, however.

Only an insane person would think of someone like that as dependable, or even … _nice_.

Which settled the matter.

It was official, the judges had reached a verdict, and it was irrevocable. Possibly he was insane as well, and that was why she felt like this. Birds of a feather and so forth.

But no, most of the time he appeared very sane, very in control and everything but out of his senses. 'Most of the time' being the operative phrase. Of course it was possible that yesterday's outburst had been an exceptional situation, which he would not let happen again. After all, how could Delior maintain that carefully cultured stoic image of his, if he lost his poise like that?

Despite herself, Anne felt a small smile creep on her face. Suddenly she remembered how he had told her that he did not wish for her company. To her great annoyance this put a damper on her winged mood, and before she could control her features, the smile turned into a scowl.

Well, there she had it, though it had not exactly been a surprise to hear. Of course it was not like she was overly fond of _his_ company either.

'Still, one just does not throw this kind of thing into the face of someone who has no choice but to _be_ that company,' Anne thought sullenly, while glancing up at her companion's flawless profile.

There was the possibility that he had only meant to silence her with his harsh words, but if Anne was honest with herself, she considered that rather unlikely. Too open and … genuine was his indifference.

And yet, was it not sort of contradicting? If it had not been for her 'company', there would be no one around he could taunt and look down his nose at. Surely that would be hard for him to endure …

The thought almost made Anne grin, but she stopped halfway in her musings, and mentally slapped herself.

'What is the matter with me,' she thought with an inward groan. 'I must not get too attached to him, no matter in what manner. I am not going to stay with him, and if he had a chance of getting rid of me sooner than Bree, he would do it without a second thought.'

It was dangerous to become too friendly with him, even if only inside her head. No doubt, the things she had experienced could cause someone to feel and act differently than they would have under normal circumstances. Not only that, but because of her current isolation and complete lack of human contact or interaction, it seemed like she was beginning to see the Elf as some sort of substitute for those deprivations.

Delior had become a constant for her - like a bastion of calm in this bedlam storm her life seemed to be descending into.

Oh, all right - perhaps that was put a little too dramatically. Her situation could be a lot worse and she was well aware of it. Yet she also could imagine umpteen ways in which it could have been better. First of all, fate had willed her to be rescued by someone who, admittedly, might fit the description of the knight in shining armour at first sight, but was anything but. And though there might be people who were less suited for that role, the undeniable truth remained: Delior clearly lacked certain qualities of a fairytale hero - or if he _did_ possess them, he was concealing that fact most convincingly.

'But be that as it may,' Anne thought wearily as she rolled up against the tree, wrapping herself tighter into her blankets and deeply inhaling the scent of earth, moss and pines. 'He _did_ rescue me, and he _did_ stay by my side. Or rather I am staying by his.'

Unfavourable as the circumstances might be, unconsciously she had begun to think of him as an anchor, as the one solid thing in her life to hold on to.

Not that she would contemplate actually doing something like that … literally.

**:::**

The morning came and with it a faint but very persistent growing drizzle. Anne actually woke up from it, muttering and wiping her face, and then – while slowly leaving the bewildered state of half-dreaming, half-waking – realised that it was no use. Her tree proved to be as non-protective as it looked.

This of course meant: no fire to cook breakfast or even warm up. Wistfully Anne remembered the sunny morning in the mountains a couple of days ago. It just figured that the weather would not do her the favour of staying agreeable for a while. At least she had escaped the icy winds, but being warm _and_ dry - no, that was obviously too much to hope for.

She glanced over at Delior, who was standing near the horses, tying up his hair. He seemed completely unfazed by the rain; Anne dropped the idea of complaining a little about the weather to him.

She then rummaged through her bags in search for fresh clothes, only to discover that they were all rather damp, safe one or two pieces at the very bottom of the bag. She swallowed down the curses she would have loved to utter right now more than anything else and went behind the unreliable tree to change.

Half an hour later they were off once more.

Another half an hour later, Anne wished herself back under her tree. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, her cape was soaked through and the water seemed to be dripping even into her boots.

From what she could see of their surroundings through the curtain of rain, the scenery was actually rather beautiful – or would have been under different weather conditions. Despite the lateness of summer, everything was still very green - only every now and then there was a tree already clad in gentle tinges of gold or scarlet.

They passed through several small copses, but as it was, even riding under the tree canopies did not provide much shelter. Twigs whipped Anne the hood off her head, fallen leaves got stuck to her wet forehead and water was running down her neckline.

It was around midday when Delior brought his horse to a halt and turned to look back at the miserable female heap behind him.

"We should dismount here. The ground is too marshy, leading the horses through the bog will be safer."

Anne, who had been deep in a fantasy of four walls, a roof, warm fluffy blankets and blazing fires, needed a moment to realise that she was being talked to.

"Bog …?" She followed his example of sliding off her horse's back, and at once her feet sank several inches deep into the mud. "Can we not … go around it?"

He glanced at her as he took the reins over Dûrfang's head.

"Do not worry. Should your dream prove to be prophetic in any way, I shall pull you out again."

Anne tried to wipe the wet horsehair off her equally wet hands, before brushing her own dripping fringes from her face and peering up at him.

'Pull me out?' she thought distractedly. 'Dream? Oh … oh yes, _that_ dream.'

The one from their last night in the cave in the Lasgalen. The dream in which he had left her to be bogged down. She had forgotten about that. Nice of him to bring it back up, though. There it was again – delightful, black elfish humour.

'Only a shame that it seems to be directed at me, most of the time,' Anne thought grumpily while stomping along after Delior.

Her dream did not turn out to be prophetic however, and they got though the bog without any incidents. Which probably meant that she could cross seer and dream interpreter off her list of possible future occupations. Another gift she did _not_ have, but in this case that was decidedly to be added on the plus side. On a less positive note, the rain seemed to become even stronger, until Anne felt something like icy needles pinch her forehead and cheeks; it was hailing.

This was the point where Delior either finally took pity on Anne, or otherwise decided to stop battling the elements for his own sake. As luck would have it, they had passed by the ruins of an ancient watchtower shortly before, though Anne had not even noticed it. Therefore she was slightly confused when the Elf gave the command to turn around.

A couple of minutes later however, she felt ready to forgive him pretty much anything.

Here she had her four walls. Well - three walls, to be exact. Also, the roof was leaking in several places, and a tree was well on the way to grow into the building through the no longer existing fourth wall. The air smelled of rain and mould, and there was also a faint flowery scent that Anne recognised as the same one she sometimes perceived around Delior, and which seemed to be coming from those clumps of small white flowers growing near the entrance. There was only one circular room, and of the flight of winding stairs that once must have been here, nothing was left but a pile of rubble, but to Anne this felt like a palace. That was, at least, until she began to feel the cold again.

Once they had seen to the horses, she sat down against a wall as far away from the entrance as possible, shivering and hugging herself. Every now and then, the wind carried spray of the icy rain inside, like small chilly clouds, settling on half dried skin and already drenched cloth.

"C…can we not make a f…fire" she asked through shattering teeth before even realising that her tongue and lips had formed the words. There was some wood and dead leaves, which looked like they might even be dry enough.

"I n…need to dry my clothes, or I w…will get sick."

Delior looked about the small room with an air of hesitance about him.

"I remember that you said, only Eru knew how long that would delay us," Anne added, beginning to feel desperate.

She thought she saw a strange expression dart across the Elf's face – as if he tried not to smile. Anne found this odd; surely, during their time of forced companionship, there must have been more amusing moments for him than her remembering something random and patronising he had said to her weeks ago.

At any rate, whether it was kindness on his part or rather rationality, he agreed to make a fire. Therefore, twenty minutes later the flickering light of the still feeble flames danced upon the walls, creating strange shadows, like minute snapping dogs.

Anne cast all thoughts of decency to the wind for the moment, stripped off everything but her underwear and sat down as close to the fire as she possibly could without being singed, and curled up into a ball with her arms about her knees. There was a time for embarrassment, she decided, and that was not now, but … later. Of course she felt embarrassed nonetheless, but her need for warmth was greater at the moment, so she tried to look like this was the most normal thing in the world for her.

Despite the draught in the room, smoke lingered in the air above their heads, slightly burning in her eyes.

Perhaps even Delior felt uncomfortable in his wet clothes, for he pulled his tunic over his head and rolled the sleeves of his under-tunic up to his elbows, before sitting down next to her, his hands resting lightly in his lap. He had untied his hair again, probably to dry it. Judging by its length and quantity, that had to take hours.

Without meaning to, Anne found her eyes wander up his long, bare forearms, and there she saw – on the inside of his right arm, just underneath the elbow – a long, ugly looking scar, running vertically over the pale skin. It looked very old.

Anne stared at the scar for a couple of moments, before realising what she was doing. Upon glancing uneasily at his face, she found that he was not looking at her, though. The Elf's gaze was cast towards the entrance, seemingly watching the storm outside, his eyes as dark and still as a frozen lake in midwinter.

Anne had no more than a second to feel relief, before he suddenly turned his head to look down at her, causing her to jerk slightly.

"What," he said tonelessly.

Embarrassed at being caught staring at him, she wildly cast around for something to ask, and her eyes fell again on the blooming weeds near the doorway.

"Er … What are those called?" she piped, gesticulating in the direction of the white flower clusters.

'Phew … saved.'

His glance followed her outstretched hand.

"Ah …_ Nimlest_. Windflower, I think they are called by Men."

Out of the corner of her eyes, Anne saw the grey ones wander back to her.

"Why do you ask?"

Damn it.

"Oh, well – just because … I noticed, you smelled –"

Stop, stop, stop.

"I mean – It smells _good_, but I wondered, why … what ..."

With an inward groan she interrupted herself and glanced up at him; he was watching her sideways, his expression as unreadable as always.

"Never mind," Anne muttered, lowering her head and closing her stinging eyes, trying to concentrate on the splatter of the rain outside.

There were a few moments of silence before he calmly spoke again.

"I make you nervous."

Anne's eyes snapped open. "What! N… no, you d… don't," she stuttered, probably voicing one of the most ill-concealed lies ever told.

"Because of what I told you …" he continued quietly, ignoring her stammering.

'Because of what he told me?' Anne, now utterly bewildered, tried to think of something he had said to her that – from his point of view – might cause her to be nervous. What did he mean? Seeing as he rarely said anything to her at all, that should narrow down the possibilities. Was he, perhaps, referring to him hauling her over the coals that night …?

"The night before last ..."

Bull's-eye.

"I meant what I said."

Delior's tone was austere, though not harsh. "That does not give you, however, any reason to doubt my watchfulness. I will take you safely to Bree."

Anne kept staring at her hands. She did not doubt his watchfulness – she never had - and she was not quite sure why he would think that she did. She really did not fancy clearing up the misunderstanding right now, though. Since she also could not think of any suitable reply for what he had just told her, she muttered, still not looking at him: "Yes … Bree … I have been thinking – what will happen, once we have arrived?"

"Nothing will happen. You will stay there," came the placid reply.

"Yes, I know that," Anne said, while staring out into the rain and biting her lower lip. She tried very hard not to think about how that prospect made her feel. "I mean, what will _you_ do?"

Delior remained silent for so long, Anne began to doubt that he would answer at all, when he finally said:

"I will meet with someone in Bree and then return to the east."

She looked back up at him to find that he was staring outside as well.

"To do what?" she dared to ask, since it did not look like he was about to slam her against a wall again. Perhaps he was in a good mood.

"Ai, to do what everyone seeks," he said levelly, his gaze still cast into the distance outside their shelter. "To search and to find."

Anne frowned, but thought it better not to press the matter. Besides, it was not like she had really expected anything more forthcoming than this.

For a few minutes she gazed mutely into the flames, listening to the strangely calming sound of the falling rain. In the end though, she could not resist.

"What happened to your arm?"

After all, she had to make the most of him actually answering questions - who could say when, or if that opportunity would present itself again.

If he was surprised by her question he hid it well; his gaze brushed her like a feather tumbling past, before fixing on his forearm.

"I was wounded in battle."

A war injury?

"When?" she asked a little shyly. Somehow, this - him in a war - was a strange thought.

"Long ago, at least for a child like you. More than four decades."

Anne decided to let the 'child'-comment slide; too fascinated was she by what he was saying.

"That great war from forty years ago? You … you fought in it?"

The Elf made a sound like a sigh, and for a moment, closed his eyes. The eyelids shimmered bluish, even in the firelight.

"I fought in several, but yes – that was when I received the injury."

Anne had not exactly asked this, but recognised it as what it was – his way of ending the exchange. As she regarded his face that looked so young and fair, but so terribly tired, she wondered how much he had seen … how many mornings, how many wars … how many lives and how many deaths. It suddenly hit her how much she was relying on him, and how little she really appreciated it … no matter how haughty, strange or sinister he might be.

"I er…" She swallowed. "I am sorry." She was not even sure where this came from, but somehow felt that she needed to say it.

His eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her for a moment, his eyes flitting over her face as if reading it (A skill she would not put past him).

"For what?"

Anne felt herself faltering under that steady, piercing gaze. Unable to return it, she looked down on her knees she was hugging.

"For … well, I know that I must be quite a - burden to you …" She pressed her fingernails into her palm; somehow, hearing herself say this, seemed worse than being told by someone else. She cleared her throat. "I … I realise that … you probably would be a lot more – well – _efficient_ without me. You would not need to rest so often if you were on your own, you would not need that much baggage ... But … maybe you should –" she hesitated for a moment, not quite knowing hw to put her thoughts in words. "But this … this situation is not my fault either. I do not mean to … to _pester_ you …"

A quick glance to the side showed her that he was watching her calmly, his head propped on one hand. "I know," he said simply.

All right, perhaps she had hoped a little that he would contradict her, but then she really should know better by now.

"Anyhow, I … if I could be of any more help – if I _knew_ how to be more useful, I would, but … I don't, so I suppose … for that I am sorry," she finished sort of lamely.

The Elf did not reply; when glancing up at him, Anne found that he was still watching her in that intense manner. Feeling awkward, she turned her head away from him, and towards the comforting sight of … stonewall. The comfort did not last long however; she just began to wonder what on earth she had been thinking, telling him all that - when she felt her chin being grabbed and her head pulled back to face him once more.

He had not changed his position, had only reached for her with one arm – the one with no scar on it – and was now scrutinising her face with his head tilted a little to the side, his brows drawn together slightly.

Although his grip on her face was not very firm, she had the strange sensation of his strength radiating through the light, warm touch of his hand.

Anne felt her own pulse beating wildly in her throat, fluttering against the back of his fingers, like the wings of a captured bird. She also felt heat creep into her cheeks. She was so close to him that she could smell the scent of his hair. Also, she could see that his eyes were in fact not just grey, but flecked with green. The third thing she noticed was that, for some odd reason, she seemed to have forgotten to breathe.

"Your eyes are red."

With that he released her and leaned back. "We shall dry the things which are most necessary, but then we should extinguish the fire."

Anne, who was still busy catching up on breathing, needed a couple of moments to process his words and to get her own thoughts in order.

'Her eyes were red'? After what she had just said to him, all he could think off was to … to manhandle her, and to inform her of her reddened eyes? Of course her eyes were red, this room had turned into something close to a smokehouse, but that was not the point.

Still feeling slightly short of breath, she glared at him, but the Elf had turned his gaze back outside, his face looking softened in the warm light of the flames, harmless and somehow … pure.

Well, she knew better than to be deceived by appearances.

**III III III**

**:::**

**

* * *

**

**AN: **Good Morning, and here we go again - a little later this week because I didn't have Internet until yesterday.

First of all: Wow … I must say I was absolutely overwhelmed by the wonderful feedback I got for the last chapter. If anything, I had expected some confusion because of the unfamiliar darkness of the part, and the character-twists (or strictly speaking, perhaps not a twist, but rather a discovery/development)

Thank you all so much for the generous praise, I'm all jittery :)

Concerning the chapter: A lot of musings and inner conflicts but occasionally there must be time for that as well. It also was (mainly for me) a short respite from all the angst and drama of the last part, before things will sharpen up again next week.

I would also like to address something that has been mentioned by several people already - Legolas' character. I am actually trying to stick as close to canon as I can, so - not to give anything away, but there _is _a reason why he behaves like that. It wasn't my intention to create an OOC-version of him à la "Let's make him an ass, that should be fun"… (Hm, well I guess it would be fun, but that wasn't the thought behind it.) I promise though – it will be explained how he came to be this way.

Oh and - Jay and Phase D: Since you guys never sign in, I'll just have to thank you here in order to do it personally at least once ;)

Well, that only leaves me to say: Thanks everybody for following this, and I can only hope that I will be able to live up to the expectations you suddenly seem to have /breaks into sweats/ :)


	17. The Better Part of Valour

**:::**

**III III III**

Legolas felt restless. This was by no means a feeling unknown to him, yet of late it seemed to plague him with increasing frequency. In this there was probably nothing mysterious, and furthermore he knew that he had more or less brought the present situation on himself. That notwithstanding, plainly and simply - he was impatient. Everything was taking too long.

He raised his eyes and looked towards the ivy-clad and half-collapsed doorway. The rainstorm had slackened a while ago, and the sky was now a turbulent, patchy grey. Dusk was slowly casting its veil over the rain-swept landscape outside.

They might be able to cover another ten miles before nightfall, if they were to leave at once, but truly he did not think it worth the effort. First, the woman would probably cause him some difficulties, if he forced her to go back outside now, and then she would most likely indeed fall ill.

Ah, they were so frail, humans. In that respect, there had been some truth in her rambling from before. Of course, there had been no need for her to tell him that, he was probably far more aware of it than she would ever be. He was not unused to travelling with mortals, and therefore knew quite well how to be considerate of them and their needs, but - travelling with young, mortal females was obviously another matter altogether.

And yet, it almost astonished him that this only seemed to have dawned on her now. Not that he did not appreciate her being humble and timid for once, but he did not wish to listen to her stuttered apologies; expressing it in any way did not change the matter, after all.

There was another, and perhaps more accurate reason for him not wanting to hear any of that, and Legolas felt a mild and brief surge of annoyance as the unwelcome thought once again gently tugged at his conscience. As much as he disliked admitting it to himself, there was no denying the fact that somewhere within his heart he still sensed something close to guilt, concerning her current situation.

He briefly glanced at the huddled up form sitting next to him. She had moved away from him a couple of feet, no doubt in fear of further 'attacks' on his part. The expression on her face, when he had grabbed hold of her face and pulled her towards him, as well as her whole body language during those few moments, had spoken volumes.

Who- or whatever she might have been in her former life - one could only hope for her sake that it was nothing that required her to conceal her thoughts and feelings, since she was clearly completely incapable of that. Her reaction had actually made him feel a little sorry, but not enough to tell her how unfounded her obvious fears were. If, by now, she still worried about him going to savage her, she was either mad, or rather more foolish than he had thought, and for that he offered no sympathy. Aside from that, the intention behind his deed had been to silence her, and since it had succeeded, reassuring her would mean to defeat the initial purpose. If the situation they were in had not been so severe, he might even have found her behaviour entertaining, or at the very least slightly amusing, and he had to admit to himself that – on some other, earlier occasions – he had actually caught himself provoking those reactions a little bit.

Was his self-imposed solitude beginning to take its toll after all? Perhaps it would be wise to distance himself a little more from her. On the other hand - that girl could be quite a nuisance at times, and flustering her apparently worked much better than growls or threats. There was something else, though …

Legolas could not fail to note that whenever his attention was focused on her, with her often strange and even bizarre behaviour she unwittingly managed to divert his wandering thoughts from other, darker paths, which he knew from experience were better left untread. Using her in such a way, even if unintentional, was indeed not the most noble thing to do, but he had long since realised - and even then with only a very mild twinge of unease – that those things mattered much less to him than they used to.

And while being on the subject of strange behaviour…

The woman was still scowling slightly, he noticed. She had put her boots back on, which caused her to now look rather odd, with nothing but footwear, a thin, sleeveless undershirt, and that strange, half-ripped pair of hoses that she insisted to wear underneath her other clothes. Her hair tumbled down her back as an unruly dark mass, a couple of leaves and small twigs still sticking to it. She was staring mutely into the fire, biting onto her lower lip and apparently lost in thought.

Legolas wondered whether he should point out to her that the tip of her left boot was slowly getting singed. But in the same moment she had already noticed it herself, drew in a sharp breath, pulled back her leg and frantically began to shake her foot and brush it off.

Out of the tail of his eye Legolas saw that she looked in his direction, either to verify whether he had seen anything – the naivety of that girl never ceased to amaze – or otherwise to glare at him. She did that quite a lot, he had noticed, though on most of these occasions he did not know what exactly he was supposed to have done to anger her. It mattered little to him; only now and then he felt a twinge of curiosity as for what might be going on in her head.

Legolas leaned back against the stonewall, telling himself that there was no point in watching the hours pass by. He should make use of the time he was forced to spend here, and get as much rest as possible. With that purpose in mind he closed his eyes – but of course he felt no tiredness. Lost in thoughts he was not sure how much time had passed, when suddenly a thud disturbed the silence, and something brushed his knee. Upon opening his eyes, he found that the girl had – as it seemed to be her habit – fallen asleep in the exact position she had been sitting, and just now had apparently tipped over to the side. That did not cause her to wake up, however. She merely muttered something, blindly groped around for his leg, against which she had just fallen, and then rested her head upon his thigh.

It really was unbelievable, Legolas thought, while pulling his leg out from under her, causing her head to roll on the floor. She would never be able to survive on her own, probably would get eaten by a bear while sleeping, the very first night.

"Play the piano?"

Jerked from his thoughts, Legolas looked to his side and down, towards the curled-up ball that had been the source of the mumbled words. He half expected the girl to be awake, but no – she was apparently still fast asleep; her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, and a few strands of tousled, dark brown hair hung across her face.

Play _what_?

"No… no, I don't know how to play … sorry…"

'Hn. So, being asleep clearly does not keep her from talking.'

He had, in fact, heard her do that before a couple of times, but had never been able to make out more than one or two coherent words, and none of them seemed to make much sense.

However, every now and again, Legolas had asked himself what her dreams might be about. He now watched the woman as she ineffectively tried to brush away a few hairs from in front of her nose (leaving a smudge on her skin), before turning around and almost rolling into the fire. Wondering what it might require to penetrate that near-unconscious state, he leaned over and reached out for her shoulder to pull her back against the wall. Just when he let go of her again, she suddenly – and with surprising swiftness, considering she was asleep – clutched his hand in both of hers and pulled it against her collarbones, like a child might do with a doll.

Even while sleeping, she was capable of showing an audacity that was almost worth admiring, though, if he were to awake her now, she would no doubt wither away with embarrassment. Her skin felt very cold against his. It was of course always a bit colder, but right now, this was presumably partly due to her lying half naked in the cool draught.

As he pulled his hand out of Anne's grip the Elf almost started at her renewed mumbling, which, this time, was accompanied by a slight smile forming on her lips.

"Smells… so good…"

"A lack of knowledge can be a blessing," he muttered, while throwing a blanket over her.

**:::**

Anne awoke with the strange sensation of something warm and soft nudging against the top of her head. Also, her face felt very hot. With some effort she fought her way to the surface of sleep's darkness and warmth, opened her eyes and saw … again, nothing but darkness. Moaning, she pulled off the blanket, which for some reason had been covering her face, and let her eyes fall shut once more. She felt so warm and drowsy, and – now that the blanket was off her head – rather comfortable.

Only a few more minutes …

Only a couple of seconds later, however, all drowsiness left her as something warm, velvety, and slightly wet brushed over her forehead, while at the same moment someone's hot breath was blown into her face.

Anne let out a small shriek and slapped her hand in the vague direction of the intruder, before struggling into an upright position. The 'molester' turned out to be Dûrfang, whose only reply was a loud, and somewhat indignant snort. Her hand still resting upon her hammering heart, Anne watched as the dark stallion backed out of the room to join Peg, who was grazing near the entrance.

'What a way to begin the morning,' she thought with a sigh, and then looked about her. Perhaps, 'morning' was sort of farfetched, still. The sun had not risen yet, and the sky was a dark grey-blue. Only above the horizon there was an erratically formed pale lining, making it look like the sky was bathed in foaming, silvery ocean. The hills, fields, and the forest in the west were almost completely clad into a coat of early morning fog. Only here and there the dark branches of a high tree, or the top of a hill could be seen.

Delior was of course already outside and, judging by the low noises she could hear from around the corner, building a fire. The one they had made in the room had of course long since gone out – probably even last night, since the air inside the tower ruin smelled clean and slightly of rain, with no hint of lingering smoke.

Once she had dressed into fresh clothes, Anne packed together her now relatively dry things and crammed everything back into her bags. While doing so, her fingers suddenly touched something hard, cold and pointy. Perplexed, she was just about to pull it out, when she remembered what it was - the strange necklace with the leaf-pendant that had been amongst her things, when Liecia had returned them to her, back in Carrockton. Having no mind to deal with this right now, Anne shoved it back to the very bottom of the bag, placing everything else on top of it.

When she began rolling up her blankets, however, she paused and frowned.

'Strange… I must have been more exhausted than I realised myself. I cannot even remember getting my blanket before falling asleep.'

It also seemed like she had slept quite a bit longer than usual. Had it not been late afternoon, when they had reached the tower yesterday? She could not remember it getting completely dark, while she had still been awake. Now that she thought about it, in exchange she remembered other things from last evening. Anne's frown deepened at the memory, and her hands paused in the act of wringing out a piece of linen that she had used as a washing cloth.

She had … Oh, no – she really had apologised to him. What had she been thinking? Not much, obviously, and the result of it was nothing to make a song about. Of course, yesterday, saying those things had seemed like a very good idea to her … like the right thing to do. Now, however … not so much.

'I think I am terribly fickle,' Anne thought ironically. 'Or perhaps I am just not a very good person, so whenever I do something … _good_, I regret it the next day. Of course, there is the possibility that only _he_ has that effect on me. Probably has it on everyone. Then again, Delior already seems to enjoy trampling about on me far too much, there really is no need to lie down in front of him and make it even easier.'

Though, to be fair, there had not been too much trampling yesterday.

And, who knew, something good might come of it, after all. At least now, the matter was off the table, so to speak, and she did not need to feel guilty about it anymore. Now she could peacefully accept the fact that, while comparing herself to the Elf, she would always feel hopelessly inadequate. That was, if one _could_ get used to something like this.

While brushing off dust from her leggings and getting to her feet, Anne decided to at least try – for the time being. After all, it would not be that long until they would part ways again.

As she stepped out through the doorway the scent of the windflowers growing there filled her nose, abruptly reminding her of how the Elf had taken hold of her chin and how she had breathed in the same scent, coming from him. Disgruntled, she shoved the unbidden memory right back into the very last corner of her mind, and stepped towards the now merrily crackling fire.

**:::**

For two days the weather remained rainy, grey, and dismal, while they crossed through wooded dales and over barren lowlands, covered with parched grass and brier wood. On the morning of the third day, however, the sky opened up, and the valley they were descending into was suddenly bathed in warm autumn sunlight, causing Delior's hair to gleam and the drops of still lingering morning dew on branches and leaves to sparkle.

Then Anne saw something else – half-transparent, greyish wisps of smoke, slowly rising skywards, and clearly visible against the dark, wooded slope lying beyond.

"There is smoke rising from down there," she said surprised.

"Yes," came the indifferent answer. "There lies the village of Oskred."

"Oskred?" Anne peered in the direction where the smoke seemed to be rising from, but part of the hill and a lot of trees were obscuring her view.

"Another village of men. It is much smaller than Bree, however."

Anne glanced at the Elf. She thought it was amazing that he was able to sound so underwhelmed, and put so much snideness in such an objective and neutral comment. Not that he had needed to say anything. Considering everything she knew about him by now, she could have told herself that they were going to give this village a wide berth. Therefore she did not spend any more thoughts on the matter, but relished the warmth of the sun on her face. About an hour later however, she could see the first houses huddled against the hillside, though still partly obscured by a number of high ash trees.

Two days ago, they had reached a road – or rather a dirt track wide enough for a horse and cart – and had been following it since then. And the road, Anne now realised, appeared to be leading directly to this village, Oskred.

What did this mean? Was her journey over already? Had Delior decided to not take her to Bree after all, but instead to leave her in this remote hamlet? Only yesterday she had asked him how far Bree was from here, and he had said that it would be seven to ten days, leaving her with mixed feelings, as she had expected it to be still a little longer. If his plans concerning her had changed, could he not at least inform her?

She was not sure why she felt so angered and hurt at the thought; this – their companionship – had always been nothing but a temporary (and not to mention forced) arrangement; she had known that from the beginning. In the end he _would_ leave her somewhere, so did it really matter whether it was in Bree or in any other civilised place? She should probably happy that it was no cave. In fact, she should be happy either way, because – was it not a good thing to finally part ways with him and be on her own? Well, admittedly she would not be on her own, she only would have to rely on someone else's goodwill - but that was fine with her, really. Had she not noticed, lately, how dependent she already had become of him, as a result of her isolation? And had _he_ not told her that he 'did not wish for her company'?

Anne grit her teeth at the thought, terribly annoyed with herself that the memory of those words of him still stung slightly. So, why should she wish for _his_ company? She really should not care. No, she DID not care.

"Are we …. going into that village?" All right, thinking it was one thing, acting on it was quite another. Though it was, after all, only justified for her to want to know where she would spend her future, was it not?

'Don't you dare not give me a precise answer…'

"No."

'Oh thank you, thank you…'

"The road bends due northwest and goes around it. We could have skirted the village more widely of course, but this is the shortest way."

"I see," said Anne in the most casual tone that she could muster, while mentally kicking herself for the sudden urge to warble away.

She also could not help but to grin at the fact that the Elf seemingly felt the need to clarify that he _would_ have skirted around it, if it had not been the shortest way. Ironically, now that she knew that they would not set foot into Oskred, she was beginning to feel slightly curious about it, and almost a little sorry for passing the chance to meet other people again. Anne was aware, though, that she minded a lot less than she probably should – which only proved her 'Elf-substitute-theory', and was definitely something she needed to deal with at some point.

'Ah, well – I shall cross that bridge when I come to it,' she thought, stubbornly ignoring the inconsistency of her thinking.

A couple of hours later they reached the bend of the road Delior had talked about. To their left – between them and the village – now lay a meadow, fringed by bushes and trees. They rested there for a while, if only after Anne pointed out that it had to be at least midday by now, and that a break was badly needed. They were just getting ready to start again, when loud shouting could be heard from behind them.

"My lord! Please, wait!"

Upon turning around, Anne saw a woman hastening towards them, dragging a small child of indefinable gender by the hand. Delior only cast a short glance in her direction, before turning back to Dûrfang, where he continued to refasten the straps holding the luggage. Anne, however, stared curiously at the approaching fellow mortal. Said person, who appeared to be about the same age (or perhaps a couple of years older) as she was herself, had now reached them and came to a halt, panting and pressing the free hand to her side. The child seemed much less out of breath; it stared at Delior with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape.

"Oh thank goodness, it is as I thought" the woman gasped, now also staring at the Elf with awe, while ignoring Anne completely. "You are one of the fair folk, my Lord, are you not?"

Delior finished fastening a water sack, before finally turning half around to look at the woman - his expression blank, his gaze not cold, but detached.

"What do you want?" he said calmly.

Anne almost flinched. He truly was an expert at being rude … She doubted that anyone was capable of asking a question with that much implied disinterest, the way he was. The strange woman, however, seemed neither appalled nor discouraged by his reaction (or lack of it). She merely looked a little more nervous and bowed to him, not taking her eyes from his face, before speaking again.

"My lord, please … come back with me to the town and help us! Our mayor's daughter – five days ago, she was badly wounded, and though the healer did for her what she could, the poor girl only seems to be getting sicker –"

"I am sorry," Delior interrupted her quietly, raising a hand. "I cannot help you."

"Ah… but…" the woman stuttered, her eyes flickering over to Anne for the first time.

'If she believes that I might be able to put in a good word for her with him, she sadly is very much mistaken,' Anne thought sardonically. 'I cannot even put in a word for myself.'

And that she kept calling him 'lord'… Perhaps it was only because Anne had got used to him by now, but did he really appear that lordly to others? This woman, at any rate, did not seem to know him, so perhaps she simply was under the impression that every Elf was a lord.

'Oh, if only you knew… you are talking and bowing to the elvish version of a dyed-in-the-wool caveman.'

"I'm begging you, my lord! It is said that all of the fair folk have great power in healing! And Roesia - she is only seventeen, still half a child! She is in so much pain …"

The woman now had tears in her eyes. Feeling rather distressed, Anne averted her gaze and instead looked at Delior's dispassionate expression, but - what could _she_ do?

"Delior … perhaps –" she began nonetheless, but was stopped by the look he shot her, even before he had said a word.

"Be quiet." The tone was soft, but his eyes were not.

Anne closed her mouthed and glared at him. For a second he returned the gaze, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked back at the woman, who had followed the brief exchange anxiously, and – after a short pause – said:

"I do not promise that I will be able to do anything for that girl."

"My… my lord?" The woman looked at him puzzled.

So did Anne, who had already put on an apologetic face and turned to the woman, but now quickly looked back at the Elf, completely taken aback.

He wanted to help them?

"I will look at the wound," he confirmed the thing Anne had not dared to believe. "But I am no healer. I may not have the skill you seem to hope for." He motioned for the woman to go ahead. "Lead the way."

He helps them! He really is going to help them!

Anne could still not believe it as she followed the two (uninvited), leading Peg by the reins. 'What is it with him,' she wondered. ', One moment I think I have figured him out, and the next he throws over everything I though I knew about him. Why the sudden change of mind? Surely not because I scowled at him? I do that often, and it never helps _me_. '

While Anne was thus puzzling away over things, the four of them made their way across the meadow, until they reached the tree line, from where they followed a narrow, well-trodden path that ran along the back of stone houses and woodsheds, before leading through a shady, cool back lane and onto a sunlit, cobbled square, on which several towering ash trees and the surrounding tall buildings cast their stark midday shadows.

Anne found it odd that no one seemed to be about, despite the beautiful weather. However, she got a glimpse of a face peering out of a window or an ajar door, here and there. With its grey stone buildings, those ancient trees, and the quietness, which was only disturbed by the chirping of sparrows, this village seemed much older to her than Carrockton had.

While walking, the woman had told them that from the injured girl's family only the father was still alive, and that he had left the day before without a word, and not returned, and that everyone assumed he had gone insane with grief.

She now led them to a large house and stopped front of the door.

"My lord, if you would kindly wait here for a moment – I shall go and fetch the healer, so he can tell you himself how he treated Roesia so far… he was in to see her only recently, to give the poor girl something to let her sleep." She uncertainly looked from him to Anne and back. "Perhaps your … er – the young … lady would not mind to go in first, to see whether Roesia is decent and in the position to receive your visit … since I am, strictly speaking, not allowed to set foot in the house …"

Anne, who had raised an eyebrow and felt slightly mocked at the '_young lady_'-comment (but at least she was still recognisable as being female) now looked at the other woman in surprise.

"Why not?"

The woman made a vague gesture. "Well, by order of the healer … there is a danger of more - wound infection, I assume … her room is on the ground storey, at the end of the hallway."

Anne frowned, thinking that this rather sounded like the woman did not want to get in trouble, and glanced at Delior. The Elf, however, nodded at her, indicating the doorway.

"Go."

Anne suppressed a sigh and,feeling very doubtful, turned and pushed against the door; it was unlocked and opened easily and without a sound. At once, an overbearing scent of herbs, or perhaps some sort of medicine filled her nostrils, nearly causing her to gasp. Before entering the house, she threw a last glance over her shoulder; the woman now hastened away, dragging the child along, presumably to look for that imperious healer, and Delior looked after her with a somewhat pensive expression.

Inside, Anne found herself in a murky entrance hall. To her left, a steep flight of stairs led to the upper storey, where she could just make out a landing and one or two doors – everything lying in complete darkness. She crossed the hall and turned into a long corridor that she walked along until she had reached the door at its far end, which stood ajar. A little light fell as a slender beam full of swirling and glittering dust motes onto the floor in front of the threshold.

Anne pushed the door open a little further and hesitantly stepped into the semi-darkness of the room, wondering belatedly whether she should have knocked. The sharp smell of herbs became even more intense.

"Er… hello?"

There was no reply.

Anne looked about her. The windows had been draped with large squares of cloth; one of them had become unfastened in one corner, hanging loosely down, and from there came the beam of sunlight that she had seen from the hallway. It only seemed to cast the rest of the room in even deeper shadows, though. Next to the door stood a deep wooden tub, seemingly full of water. In that corner, the herbal smell appeared to be especially strong. Anne now approached the large bed in the centre of the room. Thin veils, hanging from the ceiling, probably to provide the occupant with some privacy, surrounded it. Anne could only see the vague outline of a human form.

"Er… excuse me …"

Again, there was no answer, but then she was supposed to be sleeping, so Anne took heart and, after fumbling with the veils for a moment, drew them aside.

The pale, gaunt-looking girl on the bed was obviously fast asleep. Her eyes, ringed with shadow, were closed; her head was resting on a pillow, and her long, unbound hair was spilling over the white fabric of the sheets and of her high-necked nightgown. The cover was drawn up to her chest. She did not stir.

Anne, while wondering where this wound was supposed to be, decided that it probably would be politer to wake the girl before fetching Delior, and made to touch her arm, but again, she felt a strange hesitation – as if something bad might happen, if she woke her up. Calling herself ridiculous, but still unable to shake off the strange feeling that something was wrong, Anne finally reached out for the still form.

Her fingers were an inch away from the girl's shoulder, when it suddenly hit her – the waxen paleness, the gaunt cheeks, the eyes, which were not only dark rimmed, but sunken … the absolute stillness of the girl's body, and that strong herbal fragrance … as if meant to mask another smell …

Anne yanked her hand back, while clapping the other one in front of her mouth.

'_She is dead_?'

She staggered backwards a few steps, then turned around and fled from the room. Something here was very wrong indeed, so Anne did the first thing she could think of: even while hastening along the hallway, she shouted Delior's name. The same moment she reached the entrance hall, a woman outside began to scream. Anne began to run; she was already half through the hall, when she heard a loud creak behind her.

She whirled around with her heart hammering; she was now standing at the foot of the stairs – had the noise come from somewhere up there?

Staring into the darkness above, she suddenly saw – was it a mirror? – Some pale oval, she had not noticed before, but … was it moving towards her?

It was. Her heart actually seemed to skip several beats, when she realised that it was – no mirror – but a face … apparently moving down the stairs and towards her, staring down at her.

Anne screamed.

However, the scream had not even completely left her lips, when something buzzed past her ear with a sharp, hissing sound. The pale face vanished and there were several loud thuds, as if something dark and heavy was falling down the stairs.

Anne's heart nearly stopped a second time, when someone gripped her by the arm and roughly turned her around – but it was Delior, who was still holding his bow with the other hand, and although his face looked livid, as far as she could see in the little light that fell in from the open door (she only now realised that it was open), she almost wanted to cry with relief.

"What is … what is going on? Who screamed?"

The Elf did not answer; he let go of her, and his left hand flew to his throat, and it looked like he was feeling for something – then he pulled something from his neck with an angry hiss. He stared at the thing, and so did Anne – it looked like a small dart - then he held it closely to his face, and she heard him breathe in through the nose. He then threw it to the side with a disdainful sound.

"What… was that? What happened?" Anne spluttered, her head spinning, not knowing which question to ask first.

But it did not seem as if Delior was going to explain anything to her anyway. He simply grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the door.

"We need to leave."

"But –"

"Now!"

Suddenly they were outside again, and Anne squinted into the sunlight. The square was deserted. The horses stood where they had left them, though they seemed very nervous, tossing their heads and pawing the ground.

Delior began to stride towards them, and Anne, whose wrist he was still holding, stumbled along behind him.

"That girl … she was dead," she felt the need to inform him.

"Yes … I thought so …"

His voice sounded somewhat strained, and Anne thought she saw him breathe heavily through the nose.

"What is -" she began, but stopped abruptly, when he suddenly staggered, and then stopped, as if to steady to himself.

"Delior, that dart … that was –"

"It was nothing …" His voice – pressed and weaker than she had ever heard it – belied his words.

Anne felt a cold fear gripping hold of her insides.

"Was it … was it poison-"

"No." He began to walk again, though his breathing became even heavier. "A paralysing plant toxin ..."

"What! But –"

"Powerful on humans, but … not us … it will wear off quickly."

He did not look like it was wearing off, but Anne still felt somewhat calmed by his words. Besides, this was probably not the best time to start arguing – she would have to trust him.

They had reached the horses, and Delior let go off her wrist and steadied himself on Dûrfang's shoulder, before turning to her.

"Quickly, get on. I shot that man, but he escaped. We need to leave."

"What man?" Anne demanded, while groping for the saddle.

"Their so-called healer. Now, _get on_!"

Anne obeyed, (with some difficulty, because Peg was sidling about) and then watched anxiously as the Elf drew himself onto his horse's back with visible effort. She had never seen him like this, and … to tell the truth, it frightened her terribly – much more than she would have liked to admit.

Delior had barely half straightened up, when he had already urged his stallion into a swift trot, and Peg following the other horse on his own account. They left the village at a canter, and then both horses raced across the meadow, back towards the road. Anne, her hands entangled in Peg's mane, ducked over the horse's neck as the wind whipped her hair into her eyes. It seemed that Delior wanted to get as far away from here as possible …

But then, suddenly – Dûrfang slowed down again, fell into a trot, and then into a walk, before he stopped completely.

Anne walked Peg next to them; the Elf was bent forward, leaning onto his steed's neck, his face pale and stony.

"Delior?" Anne asked, vaguely wondering why her voice was trembling so much.

"Not feeling terribly well, are we?" sounded a strange voice behind them.

Anne spun around in the saddle.

A sandy-haired man stood there, bent double, wheezing slightly, but all the same with a malicious, contorted grin plastered upon his otherwise ordinary-looking features. An arrow stuck in his chest and the front of his clothes was already blood-soaked. The arrow shaft had been broken off, but it appeared that the man had not managed to pull out the rest of it - or perhaps he had simply known that it would be futile. He now slowly raised his right hand.

Anne stared at it. He was holding something that looked like a blowgun. There was a soft, grating sound behind Anne, and the stranger let his hand fall to his side, letting out a harsh laugh that at once turned into a cough, spraying his chest with more blood.

"Hah…," he panted. "You still have the strength to draw your bow?"

Anne turned back to Delior with her heart in her throat; he had indeed bent his bow, the arrowhead aiming at the man. Incredibly enough, his face was as impassive as ever, but Anne could see that the arm drawing back the bowstring was trembling.

But, if he had still that much strength left, this meant that it could not be too bad, did it not?

The strange man made a rattling noise in his throat and coughed up more blood. "I… I have a message for you, Elf …" He brushed the back of his hand over his mouth and looked up at Delior, his eyes glistening coldly. "That fire … is no longer yours."

There was a sharp twang and a whirring sound. Anne stared in horror as the man – struck by the second arrow – crumpled down, rolled to the side and lay still.

Only a split second later, there was the dull thud of a body hitting the ground behind her.

"NO!"

Anne had dismounted before she even knew it, ran around both horses and fell to her knees next to the fallen Elf. He was lying on his back, motionless, his eyes only half-closed, but they seemed glazed over, looking right through her as she bent over his head. Admittedly, that was not an unusual occurrence, but considering the circumstances …

'No, no, no … _please, no_ …' Anne felt like her breath was trapped somewhere in her throat, and her heart that had beaten so violently before now seemed on the verge of giving up his work completely.

Her hands hovered helplessly above his still torso for a moment, before tentatively brushing her fingertips over his shoulders, his chest, his ribs – searching for an injury he might have hidden until now - but there did not seem to be any. She tried to lift his upper body, but he was heavier than he looked.

'Oh no, perhaps something is on his back ...? Can I even turn him around? Or, is it that dart-thing … and that idiot, he said it was nothing … damn, arrogant, over proud …'

"Delior?"

Nothing.

She tried to shake him, but his body remained limp.

'Is he even still …?'

"Delior!" Her voice had become a couple of octaves higher.

"Legolas!" One should leave nothing untried. If he had fallen into some sort of unconsciousness, perhaps his real name would filter down to him better …

And there! Had his eyelids not fluttered a little bit, just now?

"Legolas?" she whispered.

Anne became suddenly aware that her face was wet, and in the same moment, the Elf's eyes closed briefly, opened again - and then found hers.

It was like a dam had burst inside of her.

A single sob escaped her lips - half of relief, half the echo of something else, buried at some place deep inside of her, though she had neither the strength nor the will to get to the bottom of that now. She let her head sink down until her forehead was pressed against his chest; she did not want him to see the tears on her face, some of them from before and not yet dried, others new and hot and now slowly running down her temples, damping the thin material and probably even his skin underneath. That of course made the whole act of trying to hide them rather pointless.

To her horror, Anne felt further sobs building up in her throat like cough. Desperately trying to suppress them, she took several slow, deep, shuddering gasps, inhaling the familiar fragrance of windflower, leather and – very faintly – river water, mixed with the scent of his skin. She concentrated on the soothing warmth of his body, even if she only felt it on her face. There was no movement in him, save the very slow rising and falling of his chest. Anne began to wonder whether he had lost consciousness after all, when he finally lifted his right hand. She thought he would push her head off, but instead he grabbed the back of her neck and she felt his fingers slide into her hair.

'Wait… what?'

**III III III**

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**AN: **First of all, the length of this chapter is partly due to the fact that I _may_ not be able to update next week. I will be away until next Tuesday, and in the meantime probably won't have internet access.

About this chapter: something random, actually, but – the first scene was actually meant to be the ending of the last one. After all the angsty stuff from 'the other side'_, _it was meant to be something like a counterpart to Anne's musings, as you can perhaps tell from the wording.

Apart from that… it's strange, but considering how long this thing is, and how much happened, I can think of precious little to say about it … maybe that's a good thing – or not.

Anyway, if there should be any questions (like things that I thought I made clear in the chapter, but did not, which happens to me quite frequently) you're of course more than welcome to ask! ;) Oh and, yes - I now that the ending is -kind- of mean, but the truth is that every other point I considered as an ending would have been even meaner :)

And last but not least: Thanks to the reviewers! I absolutely love reading what you think of the story, be it thoughts, praise, questions or constructive criticism, I love them all :)


	18. A Little Bit Funny

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**III III III**

Time seemed to have frozen. Or, perhaps it was rather that time kept racing on, while everything else had frozen. At least as far as Anne was concerned, this appeared to be the case – she doubted whether she would have been able to move, even if she had tried. The reason was not that she was being held in place; although the hand of Legolas still lay on the back of her head, it did not apply any pressure at all.

She felt strangely detached from the world. It briefly had occurred to her how exposed they probably were right now; what if there were more of those people … how many of the villagers were part of this, or had they all been deceived by the strange healer as well? Were they really safe here?

But those thoughts and the associated fears were oddly muffled – Anne felt like she was surrounded by thick fog, or perhaps layers of cotton, which her worries were encircling, but could not penetrate. It was almost as if she were not in the middle of a meadow near the village anymore, but at some other, strange place - high above, where nothing and nobody could reach or hurt her. She also had the very odd sensation that the Elf's warm hand was the only thing holding her in that place.

'After-effects of the shock,' she thought dully. 'As well as possibly serious loss of reality.' The one she was putting her trust and hopes in, was after all lying struck down on the 'battlefield'. Yet, the fact that – apart from having raised his arm – he was still not moving began to worry Anne slightly. He also had not said a single word since opening his eyes again. How far did this paralysis go?

"Are you all right? "

His question came so sudden, and seemed so inadequate for the situation, Anne was unsure whether she had not perhaps misheard him. His tone was bar of any emotion that might have indicated any real interest, but she was so relieved to hear his voice that she, for once, did not mind.

"Ye… Yes," she whispered, dimly wondering whether it should not have been her asking that question.

Feeling a little awkward, and (not so little) embarrassed, Anne wanted to lift her head, but in the same instant, she felt a jerk going through the Elf's body. He suddenly sat up in a swift, and seemingly easy motion that nearly landed her in his lap, and probably would have, if his hand had not still been on the back of her neck. She struggled a little to straighten up next to him, and then anxiously watched his face. He simply sat there with his head slightly bent and one leg drawn up to his chest. His expression did not betray anything; if he felt pain or weakness, the only indication of that were several slow, deep breaths he took through the nose. Finally, he turned his head slightly to the side to look at her, his gaze level and calm.

"Then why are you crying?"

It took Anne a moment to realise that he was apparently referring to his question from before. Perhaps that plant toxin also acted as a tranquilliser.

"I am not," she sniffed, hastily wiping her cheeks with one hand in order to dispose of any proof of this untruth.

He just watched her with a 'why do you even bother'-expression on the marble-like face and in those green-flecked eyes. Anne was just about to sulkily advise him to mind his own business (which apparently was far more serious than hers), when she felt him tightening his grip on her neck. He then pulled her head towards him, until his nose nearly touched her cheek.

Anne barely had had time to ask herself what might have gotten into him, when his warm breath brushed her skin and sent a shiver down her spine. The feeling of 'unrealness' grew even stronger, and yet at the same time, she was distinctly aware of the short, bristly grass underneath her hands that was pricking against her palms, of the sweet, earthy, dry, and somewhat dusty smell of the sunlit meadow, and the faint scent of the Elf's skin. He was so close that she could see a tiny scar just above his cheekbone, a thin line that was only a shade paler than the rest of his immaculate face. Anne suddenly became aware that his lips were only inches away from hers, and the realisation of that simple fact did strange things to her stomach.

A couple of pale yellow butterflies tumbled by as warm breeze rustled through the grass, making the dry blades whisper, and lifted a few strands of long, silky hair, blowing them across Anne's face. The mix of windflower and another deep, warm, woody scent caused her to feel a little light-headed.

She was obviously still in shock.

Anne felt that she should perhaps say something … anything.

"I, er… you …"

The words died on her lips as she rather felt than saw him tilt his head a little more; his straight nose (not that she would notice such things) brushed along her jaw, and then down the side of her neck. The sun was very hot on Anne's cheeks all of a sudden, which was odd, because it was warming her back, while her face was in the shadow. Also, it felt like the butterflies from just now had somehow found a way into her stomach, where they had magically multiplied. A couple of them even seemed to be making their way up towards her throat.

Anne forced her mind away from that intelligent line of thoughts, and back to the more pressing questions. What was the matter with him? Had the poison on the dart affected his brain, too? Strangely enough it appeared to have affected hers, and that even without having been hit. Or … maybe she had been hit without noticing? That would at least explain her sudden inability to breathe evenly, and why she did not push him away. Then the Elf had raised his head again, effectively emptying Anne's head of all thoughts of poison and darts. For a moment his face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath upon her own lips.

A second later he had let go off her - so abruptly that Anne only realised what had happened when he was already getting to his feet.

"It does not come from your skin," he said, his voice breaking the spell that seemed to have been lying on Anne, as well as their surroundings. "They probably used it to mask the corpse's smell."

"What does… my skin … corpse?" Stuttering seemed to be turning out as one of her hidden attributes. Right now, this was not really the issue however; she had no idea what he was talking about, and at any rate was far too busy trying to get her hammering heartbeat under control to care very much.

What was going on? For a moment, she had actually thought that …

'But no, that would be ridiculous!'

However, ridiculous or not, for a moment – a crazy moment – it had almost looked like he might kiss her. Which of course would have been completely inappropriate, and … the last thing that she desired. And in a situation like this, too! It was a good thing that he appeared to have come to his senses. And yet … the thought that he almost might have …well, it was rather unsettling, to say the least. And now he was acting like nothing had happened?

"What… what does not come from me?" she finally managed to get out, while Legolas brushed off his clothes and then went over to the horses.

He really was not going to address anything … else? Apparently not, and maybe that had to be expected. Admittedly, there were perhaps more important things to worry about, right now, but all the same ... Aside from the fact that his timing left a lot to be desired, if he really thought that she would just go along with his strange mood swings, he was delusional!

"The smell of the Hûdâl," said Legolas in response to her already half forgotten question, while glancing over his shoulder, and giving her a look as if she had questioned whether two and two really equalled four.

Slowly but surely starting to feel decidedly annoyed with him, Anne staggered upright and followed the Elf, who now stepped around the horses.

'Well, pardon me for not being as nonchalant as he seems to be about stumbling over dead bodes every other day and getting attacked, or nearly killed by mad villagers, armed with blowguns and poisonous darts!'

Speaking of both …

Anne swallowed as she watched Legolas approach the lifeless form of the 'healer' – or whatever he really might have been – and turned the body around with one foot. He continued to speak like this were nothing out of the ordinary, while grasping the shaft of the intact arrow, and, with a sickening, wet sound, yanked it out of the man's chest. Anne hastily turned away from the unpleasant sight, feeling nausea building up inside her.

"The smell only lingers in your hair and clothes, but not on your skin. I also noticed it before, in the village - so I assume, they used Hûdâl to mask the stench of decomposition. It must have been a lot stronger inside the room of the girl. Hûdâl also has the property to delay the process of decay, therefore it is often an ingredient in mixtures used by embalmers."

"But the whole house stank of it," said Anne, who was trying to follow, bewildered. "Did you not smell it when you came into the hall?"

"Another delightful quality of the toxin this vermin had chosen for his poorly planned operation."

Anne turned around to see that Legolas was staring down at the dead man to his feet, a look of disgust and sovereign contempt on his face.

"It first attacks the victim's senses. I barely smelled anything at the time I entered that house."

The Elf bent down, presumably to examine the body, and Anne quickly turned away once more; perhaps he was about to wrench out the damaged arrow as well, so as not to leave any traces behind ... her stomach was churning enough already. At least now she knew why he had reacted so appalled after discovering that she had used that herb on her skin.

'Not that he could not simply have told me that in the first place,' she thought dryly, while, to be on the safe side, still standing with her back to him.

Only then, slowly (and belatedly) the full meaning of his earlier words sunk in.

The smell lingers in your hair and clothes, but not on your skin

Not on her skin …

So that had been the reason for his strange behaviour from before? He had only wanted to confirm his suspicion of …

To her growing annoyance, Anne could not suppress another shiver at the memory of how his warm fingers had felt on her neck, how he had pulled her towards him to … to sniff at her! To find out whether or not she smelt of that damned weed?

She slowly turned back around to face the Elf, who had straightened up and was now striding back towards the horses. The feeling of nausea in her stomach had smoothly transformed into one of anger – and that one kept rising.

While staring blindly ahead, Anne was vaguely aware of Legolas saying something about having wasted enough time here, and that they had better be moving on. She was not even sure why she was so furious with him, only that her rage was further complicated by a strong feeling of embarrassment, and, for some reason, hurt. Not to mention that she also felt like a sublime idiot. It was probably thanks to the latter that she did not protest in any way, when the Elf, who appeared to be completely recovered, told her to get back on her horse, without offering any further information. She mutely obeyed and followed him, staring holes in his back, while biting her lip and swallowing down her desire to scream.

Frankly, he was acting like they had only stopped here for a minute to buy milk and butter. Anne wanted nothing more than to yell at him, but as long as she was uncertain about what exactly she wanted to deliver, that might not be a good idea. Why did she feel like this? He had irritated and angered her before, and on more than one occasion. However, he had never managed to enrage her like this, and for that there was simply no logical reason. The fact was – and of that she was almost painfully aware – she was not angry about the situation he had landed them in ... not because of her fear and shock while she had been alone in that house, and not even because he had made her believe that he was dead for those few horrible minutes. (Although she probably would have been more angry about that, if she had not felt so relieved.)

No, the actual reason for her anger was stupid, silly, absurd, and made absolutely no sense at all. A stupid misconception, a stupid idea, a stupid thought, and the fact that she had even considered it, only proved that she herself was stupid as well.

Why should he kiss her?

Why should she think that he would?

Why should he want to kiss her? She was probably the last person he wanted for anything like that, just like he was the last one she would want to kiss. Oh well, perhaps not the very last one; there were probably worse people one could be forced to kiss, like … like an orc, for example. Not that she had ever met an orc face to face, but from what people had told her about them, they were less than pleasant company.

Anne gnarled her teeth and squeezed her fingers around the reins (which fortunately hung slack, so at least Peg did not become an unsuspecting vent for her wrath).

No matter how she looked at it, she was unbelievably mad at him, and she was mad at herself for being mad at all. Had she possibly – with some strange, twisted, completely insane part of her brain – expected, or ... even wanted him to ... go any further? Well, that certain part of her brain had to be a very abnormal need-driven one! Did it not realise that he was an Elf? A different race! She might as well go and kiss Dûrfang (Peg, she would probably see as a friend), and if that was a little farfetched, then she was back to… Orcs. They were probably not less human than Elves were, even if that might be not the best comparison to be found.

After all, the reason why two so very different races of people existed was presumably not nature's intention for them to interbreed! One only needed to take a look at how 'awfully well' the intercultural cooperation worked in their case - that should put aside all doubts. This obvious fact, however, did not seem to have reached that very odd part of her brain, which furthermore appeared to be able to blank out certain other facts as well. Delior … no – Legolas … (he really told her nothing, even his real name she had had to learn from somebody else) He was haughty, arrogant, insufferably proud, and somehow capable of making her feel just as foolish and small as he no doubt regarded her himself.

To get it together with someone like that, owing to certain circumstances – was perhaps manageable, even if difficult at times. To tolerate the person and their behaviour – that wasn't quite so accomplishable, but maybe still within the range of possibilities. To like him, or feel something … positive for him other than thankfulness – that would be unacceptable, if not disastrous, and could only lead to self-destruction. And the path was short.

Unfortunately she seemed to be teetering dangerously close to said path, although admitting it to herself (or anyone else) was pretty much on the bottom of the agenda. Anne had begun to suspect this over the last couple of days, but only today - during that one moment - suspicion had suddenly turned into frightful reality. She had been trying to suppress the memory of how he had fallen to the ground with that horrible noise …

She had been completely overwhelmed by the helplessness, terror and dread she had felt while kneeling next to his motionless, and seemingly lifeless form. That pure and breathtaking fear, not for herself but for him, had utterly shocked her - nearly as much as her experience from before, and perhaps even more.

She clearly showed a very unhealthy propensity for self-torment.

For obvious reasons, Anne's thinking did little to diminish her anger and frustration in any way, and neither did a short, but heavy shower of rain that came down in the late afternoon, and left behind a strange stuffiness that smelled heavily of wet earth and old leaves. It was still light when they reached a small clearing, sheltered by birches and willows, where Legolas announced that they would stop here to make camp for the night. Everything was back to normal, it would seem. Making camp so early, though, might suggest that the Elf was still struggling with some after-effects of the poison, but if he was indeed feeling any weakness he did not let it show. That did not concern Anne however, or so she told herself while unsaddling and unpacking dry clothes and her blankets. When shortly afterwards Legolas told her that 'if she wanted to bath she should do it now' without even looking at her, she only felt once again reconfirmed in her opinion of him.

He really was not worth the effort to ask after his health!

She stomped off towards the little pool beyond the trees that was fed by a rivulet, which followed the road down into the valley. The water was – apart from being icy cold compared to the stuffy air – pretty shallow, so bathing was not really an option. Therefore, Anne angrily splashed around and tried to wash the herbal stench out of her hair, while screwing up her courage to go and confront Legolas. During the last hours, this plan had taken shape in her head.

She could not let things go on like this. At the very least, it would drive her mad.

Did he not realise how his strange, controversial actions bothered her? He probably did, and that made it even worse. One did not treat a lady like that, no matter how little she looked like one! And then today - sniffing her down like a dog, making her think... who knows what, only to, an instant later, act like that was the most normal thing in the world between to people who barely knew each other. It was a liberty and she could not even tell him that, because if she did, he would know exactly what she had been thinking, and that would be … well, it really did not bear contemplating.

Yet, there were other, less delicate matters that needed an explanation. Even to Anne it had become clear that they had walked straight into some sort of trap today, and while one might argue that it had been partly her fault, (since she had urged the Elf to help the girl) it was very frustrating that he – like most of the time - appeared to be in the know of everything, while she – as always – was not.

Now, she wanted some answers - and she would get them!

**:::**

Legolas was glad that he had had the sense to make camp a little earlier in the evening than they usually did. While doing so reluctantly, he had to accept that he needed the rest. Only after he had sent the girl to the pool, he had allowed himself to sit down against a tree, and now he felt the whole impact of the drug that was still in his organism. He had not been lying when saying that the toxin had a lesser effect on Elves than it did on humans, only he might have underestimated it a little after all.

It did not matter - they had lost so much time today that a few more hours would make little difference. He could make up for it by starting extra early tomorrow morning, even if that would no doubt raise some protest. Then again, regarding the protest, he had a strong feeling that he would not have to wait for the morning. Even in his current state he could not fail to notice how angry and upset his fellow traveller was. (And neither would he have, if he were both deaf and blind) It was foreseeable that she would begin to pester him sooner or later. He could only nurture the hope that it would turn out to be 'later'; right now he had no mind to listen to her laments. He was well aware that he had carried it a little too far today - both with the risk he had taken in the village and his behaviour with her.

He had known within a second that the smell of the herbs did not come from her and - truth be told - he already had suspected as much.

After that …

He had reacted without thinking, it was as simple as that. Legolas was not even quite sure what it was that he had responded to – perhaps an unconscious fear that had made him try to hold on to anything warm and breathing nearby … perhaps to some base need that was dismissed by his nature, but by circumstances had been laid bare for a moment … perhaps to her tears.

She had gone so rigid in his arm, tense, like a young horse that was unused to touch. He had felt her pulse quickening under his hand, and for a moment he had actually thought she might collapse there and then. He felt no remorse, but maybe he needed to question his own motives all the same. He was lowering his guard, knowing that their journey together was drawing to a close. Matters were complicated further by the fact that the girl appeared to feel attracted by him to some extent. That in itself was hardly remarkable; she was young (although probably older than she looked) and under quite an amount of pressure, he was the only person to whom she could relate, and he was male.

At any other time, and in any other situation she probably would never have felt or acted the way she did now, and neither would he. All this considered, it truly was fortunate that they were about to part ways in a couple of days; the combination of exceptional circumstances that had brought them together - and which kept affecting them both - otherwise might have led him (and perhaps also her) to overstep lines that should not be crossed.

Legolas breathed in deeply and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again in an attempt to clear his vision. The toxin really was persistent, but at least most of his strength appeared to have returned. What worried him a lot more than that, however, was the question how it could even have come to this. Was it really already common knowledge where he was and who he was with? For this had been no coincidence - that much was obvious. He could not remember ever having met that man who had tried to immobilise him, and yet apparently they had a common acquaintance. The man had not born the sign, which would have identified him as what he was beyond doubt, but the 'message' and its meaning had been quite clear to Legolas, there was no other proof needed. Apparently, someone was becoming even more impatient than he was himself …

The Elf smiled coldly as his gaze drifted towards the mountain chain in the east and beyond it.

'Calm yourself … I shall find you, and then both our desires will find an end.'

He was interrupted in his thoughts, when he heard quickly approaching footsteps. Upon turning his head, he saw the young woman purposefully striding towards him, with dripping hair and a look of alarming determination on her face.

"I was beginning to wonder whether you might have drowned yourself," he said before she had a chance to open her mouth.

She stopped, somehow managing to look like he had slapped her across the face. (And effectively causing him to feel like he had) Hiding his annoyance, Legolas stood and walked past her; the tinge of cruelty had been only half intended – but he was in no mood to be nagged at right now.

**:::**

Anne had half a mind to throw her wet towels and clothes at him, but somehow suspected that such an action might not be the best introduction she could choose. However, when he, without a second look, walked past her and towards the pool, she could not help but angrily shout after him.

"Wait!"

He paused with his back to her, and Anne thought she heard him sigh quietly before he looked back at her over his shoulder.

"What?" His tone was bored, his face a paragon of arrogance and indifference.

Anne felt the anger swell inside of her once more, almost causing her stomach to ache. 'Relax,' she told herself, while taking a shuddering breath. Hysterics never served well as a basis for any kind of debate.

"Why did you let me walk into that house on my own, if you already knew that the girl was dead?" she asked as calmly as she could. This had only occurred to her now; he had caught her off guard with simply walking off, but she found that this was as good an opening question as anything else.

He regarded her for a moment as if pondering her question. If he was surprised by her sudden demand, he hid it well.

"I had begun to suspect something, I never said I knew," he finally deigned to answer, before turning and continuing to walk down the leaf-covered slope.

Anne, who had no intention of backing down so quickly, followed him the same way back she had just come.

"Even if you only suspected - you just sent me in there without a second thought!" For now, she decided to forget that he had also been the one to come to her aid.

"I had decided to play along their game."

"You decided… There … there is so much wrong with that sentence, I don't even know where to begin!"

"How about you begin with leaving me alone."

'Aah, his voice is calm, but it seems like he is starting to loose his poise somewhat,' Anne rejoiced inwardly.

She was on the right track!

"If you don't mind," she said, knowing fairly well that he did. "I would rather begin with the 'game' – how can you call it a game? At least two people are dead!"

They had reached the pool. Legolas halted and turned around to face her fully, which unfortunately prompted the desire in Anne to back away, but she stubbornly ignored the cowardly notion.

"Would you have preferred it if I had let him throw his knife at you?" the Elf asked coldly.

He had had a knife? All right, so his eyes were better than hers in the dark, but that was beside the point.

"I am not saying that you should have … what I mean is - you could have warned me before you simply decided to... what are you doing?" she interrupted herself, for Legolas had begun to unbuckle his belt.

"I could not have warned you without letting them know that I was suspicious of them - and I am taking off my clothes."

If he thought he could get rid off her that easily, he was very much mistaken. This time, she would stand her ground! She was not quite the oversensitive touch me not that he seemed to think she was.

"Then, I was your … your decoy?" she asked indignantly, while trying to look like she was completely impervious to the fact that he was undressing in front of her.

"No, not really. A decoy I would expect to act the way I want it to."

Anne gasped. "Well, I am sorry if the ... the way I act is not to your liking ..."

"No need," he said, the irony in his tone unmistakable. "I have learned to live with it."

With growing alarm Anne watched as he discarded tunic and belt, and then began unlacing his under tunic. "Wait –"

He did not do her the favour, but drew the garment over his head by the hem. Anne quickly averted her eyes (all right, maybe she was an oversensitive touch me not after all) and felt her cheeks growing hot, while concentrating on a snail that was crawling through the grass to her feet.

It was only his chest, for heaven's sake! The snail shell had funny colours.

"That … that man who said he had a message for you … what did he –" she began to stutter, but was interrupted by the Elf.

"Will you stay here?"

"Hah! Why, you are not shy, are you?" she scoffed at the snail.

"No," came the impassive reply. "But if you feel the need to watch me, perhaps you should come here and do it properly. Not that I think it a suitable sight for children …"

Before Anne's appalled gaze could fly like the moth into the flame, she turned around and fled.

As she reached the clearing again, she found that - although still seething - she had somehow lost her incentive. He even managed to corner her, when initially _she_ was the one trying to corner _him_. Also, he simply blocked everything and was being rude and dismissive on purpose - even more than usual, it seemed. So, he did not want to talk to her. That was by no means something new, and yet … had he perhaps thought that she would confront him about the … almost kiss… sniffing thing? (Yes, that meddlesome thought did not leave her alone, it was intrusive, persistent and presumably planning to haunt her forever.) Judging by how wonderful the conversation had gone just now, Anne did not even dare to imagine what his reaction would be if she asked him about anything like that. She sat down on her blankets, suddenly feeling drained.

Legolas did not take long; he returned perhaps ten minutes later, fully dressed again and drying his hair as he walked.

Anne looked up at him sullenly. "You cannot squirm out of a conversation like that."

He threw her a washing cloth that she apparently had forgotten by the pool. Anne did not even bother trying to catch it. Legolas raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, before beginning to hang several wet sheets over the lower branches of the nearest tree.

"You were the one who left, were you not?"

"Well, I… of course, I did - you -"

"You really need to learn respecting another person's right to privacy," he said as if explaining to a child that the sky was blue.

Anne gasped for air at this audacious distortion of the facts. "I… I need to learn …" With difficulty she forced herself back to the situation at hand.

'Stay calm! He wants to provoke you … nothing new there …'

She scrambled to her feet; somehow, sitting on the ground while he was standing made her feel like she was at a disadvantage.

"That man," she said with a very forced calmness. "What was he talking about, when –"

"This is exactly what I meant with other people's right to privacy. It really is none of your concern."

"It IS, as soon as it affects me as well!" Although knowing that she might be overreacting a little, Anne could not help herself. "Today, I could have been injured, too!"

"You are unharmed, alive and whole, as far as I can see."

"I am now, but just as well –"

"You truly are tiresome."

"And you are unfair!"

Legolas slowly let his arms sink, while turning around to look at her.

"Unfair?"

"Yes," she snorted. "Unfair!"

There he was, it was out. Perhaps it sounded childish, but then he seemed to consider her childish no matter what she did, so he could just as well know what she thought about him.

A mild frown formed on the Elf's face. "And what am I doing that you feel is so unfair?"

"You know exactly what I mean," said Anne, glaring at him. The knot in her stomach seemed to be tightening again.

He narrowed his eyes in a pensive way. "I am afraid you will have to help me along."

She clenched her fists, returning his gaze for a moment before looking away from his sharp, clear, merciless eyes. She could see the green flecks in them, even from this distance. Or, perhaps she only thought she could see them because now she knew that they were there. She wished she did not know. She also wished she did not wish to see them again.

"Those things you… some things you say, or do … It just..." Maybe she should have composed a speech beforehand. Improvised arguing was clearly not one of her strengths.

"Today, when … after you had fallen down, and I thought … but you were not, and then …" She felt her cheeks grow hot again, remembering the feel of his warm breath on the corner of her mouth. She pressed her fingernails into her palms so tightly that it hurt. "You cannot…. You cannot do things like that ... I thought you were going to … I mean …"

Brilliant, she was rambling like a mad person, he probably could not even follow her.

"I am confused."

Well, that was to be expected.

"Is it something I did, which makes me unfair in your eyes … or rather something I did not do?"

If her head had felt hot before, that was nothing compared to how it felt now - she probably resembled an overripe tomato. Anne's eyes flew up at him, horrified.

Yes, she had asked herself the same question, but that was no excuse for him to be so … so blunt!

"I … you … Of course not!" she spluttered, only then to realise that technically this did not even answer his question. "I did not … I am not …" It had just begun to dawn on Anne that she would probably not be able to compose a reply that could possibly save her face right now, when she saw how the Elf's expression changed from unfazed to one of cold, strangely mirthless amusement.

"You … do you think this is ... entertaining?" she said incredulously.

Her anger was back, and with all its might.

"Yes, sometimes, I do indeed …"

It really was surprising that she even heard his calm reply, for there suddenly was a strange rushing sound in her ears, as if her rage had started to whirl around in her head.

"You … you are ..." She unsuccessfully cast around for words that could have expressed her outrage.

"What is the matter with you?" she finally snarled, not entirely sure what she found so upsetting, but her embarassment fueled her anger even more.

"That is ... that is cruel!"

"Cruel," he repeated slowly, while taking a step towards her and reaching out with one hand.

Anne flinched, but all he did was to pull a small leaf from her still wet hair and then flip it to the side. His fingers brushed her neck where it meets the shoulder, and although the touch was so short and light that she easily could have imagined it, she felt a faint tremble run through her, causing her to curse her body.

"How strange …" he said quietly. "You do not seem to be suffering that much ..."

Afterwards Anne could not have told whether it had been his tone or the innuendo in his words, or whether it just had been the final straw. Without thinking or hesitating, she followed the first impulse that came to her. Raising her hand, she intended to slap him in the face with all her might.

He caught her wrist after the glorious split of a second during which she actually thought that she had, for once, taken him by surprise. She did not think twice, but send her second hand after the first – it was, after all, not for nothing that she had got two of them. Legolas stopped it just as easily as the first time. At this point Anne might have given up and admitted defeat ...

... If the Elf had not made a soft, huffing sound through his nose, like a mocking laugh, while at the same time twisting his lips sardonically.

Something snapped inside Anne's head in this moment, and she tried to bring her knee upwards in a last – admittedly very low and unsporting – attempt to attack. Her onslaught was nipped in the bud as she suddenly found herself turned around, her arms now crossed in a very uncomfortable way in front of her (her left elbow was digging into her own stomach), while her wrists were still in Legolas' grip, and her back was pressed against him.

Anne gasped and tried to free herself with a jerk; as a result she was rewarded with a feeling as if both her shoulders had been dislocated.

As the Elf bent his head she was enveloped in the faint flowery scent of his hair, and his breath grazed her left ear.

"If necessary," he said, his voice velvety. "I am in fact capable of being very unfair."

**III III III**

**:::**

**AN**: Good afternoon to all of you on this rather grey and rainy Wednesday :) Before I start rambling about this and that - first things first: Thank you SO much for the reviews to the last chapter!

I only returned yesterday after all (therefore the delay, but in exchange, this chapter is extra-long again ;-)) – as suspected, we really did have no internet - and now I am over the moon with all the wonderful feedback.

I know Legolas was mean today – but one has to forgive him, he's preoccupied ;) And yeah, Anne is pretty out of sorts and freaking out a little, (I thought so myself while rereading) but there are a lot of things weighing in on her at the same time.

On a random note - I kind of miss Delior Q_Q I knew the day would come for the name to change, and it won't disappear for good, but still.. /sniff/ got so used to it ;) I also keep writing Delior instead of Legolas, so if there are still some Deliors left in this chapter - my apologies.

Next time, there actually will be some explaining (finally), and we'll meet a couple of people.

And as always: thank you all for reading, especially if you made it until here :-)


	19. Meetings and Reunions

**: : :**

**III III III**

For several moments the only thing that could be heard was Anne's ragged breathing.

"Are you done?" said Legolas at length.

His tone was light and calm - as if Anne were merely dallying with some chore that he had asked her to do, and not like she had just tried to hit him. He sounded in fact so bored with the whole situation that it took all of her restraint not to throw back her head in the vain hope that she might hit his face. Chances were that he was capable of doing the same thing to her neck he had done to her arms – which in turn might prove to be rather unhealthy.

"Let go off me!" she hissed instead.

"With pleasure. Once you have calmed down."

"You are hurting me!"

"You are hurting yourself."

"Because of you!"

"I did nothing to harm you."

"What! How can you say that?"

"What has got into you?"

"I thought you were dead!"

The words had formed in her head without her realising it, and they were out of her mouth before she had a chance to bite down on her tongue. She did it belatedly, dimly registering that opening her mouth in the first place might have been a huge mistake. This was not what she had meant to say at all.

Legolas had fallen silent and gone very still. Anne could feel his slow intakes of breath against her back – and even that faint movement seemed to cease for a moment. Then she suddenly felt the Elf let go off her left wrist and pull her around by the other one so they were facing each other again. She looked up at him defensively, trying to read his expression. He appeared to be doing the same (possibly with a lot more success) as the only thing moving in his face were his eyes. After a few moments he slightly bowed his head and waved one hand in a 'go ahead then'-gesture.

Anne stared at him, nonplussed.

"What?" she said uncertainly.

"Ask your questions."

She frowned, not sure what to make of his sudden change of mood. "Really?"

"You will not stop pestering me, unless I answer you, true?"

"Er…"

„That is what I thought," he said, while letting go off her other wrist and walking back towards his tree where he turned around and sat down against it once more. "So ask."

Still feeling somewhat wary, Anne approached the Elf and crouched down on the ground in front of him.

"What happened to that woman? And to the child?"

It was not exactly the question she was most anxious to get an answer to, but for some reason it was the first one that popped into her head.

"Nothing. She fled when her healer began his attack."

"So it really was her whom I heard screaming," Anne muttered. "Was she … do you think she was –"

"No. There was no lie in her eyes when she approached us, and when that man's true intentions became apparent, her fright seemed genuine. I doubt that she was anything more than a tool to them."

"But who are they? And that man … it seemed like he was only after you."

"Yes," said Legolas, his gaze slowly wandering away from Anne. "It did seem like that."

"But how could they know that you would go in there? How could they know that you would even come that way?"

His motion was half an elegant shrug, half a defensive gesture.

"I do not know. These days there might be many unfriendly eyes watching from afar, from hidden and unhidden places."

"And that does not alarm you?" Anne asked incredulously, before adding in a sardonic tone: "Or did you suspect that as well?"

"Who says that it does not alarm me?" the Elf retorted, his eyes meeting hers again.

She bit her lip and fell silent for a moment, before realising that he had not told her anything new so far.

"That … 'healer'," she said (not quite managing to put the same punctuated irony in the word he had done before). "He was talking about fire … that it did not belong to you anymore …"

It might have been a mere trick that the twilight was playing on her eyes, but for a moment Anne thought she saw the corner of his mouth jerk into the ghost of an icy smile. But then the moment had passed, Legolas expression was blank and his face showing nothing but a vague tiredness.

"Yes," was all he ventured.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

This time he remained silent for so long, Anne had already begun to suspect that he would not answer her at all, when he finally sighed, bowing his head.

"The word may be misleading, I think. What he was referring to is something we call galacil."

"And what is that?"

"It is a bit difficult to explain, especially to mortals. The galacil is ultimately nothing more or less than the essence of life of every growing and breathing being on earth. It is not visible to the eye, though many of us are able to perceive it, and sense how great it is. Whether the smallest plant or the greatest beast, they all carry it within them."

"And we do also? Men, Elves …"

"Of course. Maybe it really is easier to understand if you think of it as fire. Though in us it burns far brighter, and the flames grow much greater than in mortals, beasts, or even trees. Therefore it presents us with power and skills that you do not know, provides us with strength and will that you cannot muster. However, it also is capable of burning and consuming us from the inside, if we let it - and like a fire, its force can turn from life-giving to life-threatening. With the same intensity it empowers us to love - it can let us hate ... and just like it enables us to build and create many things that are fair and beautiful, it may cause us to destroy them."

"So, then" Anne threw in, trying to understand this all correctly. "It is not exactly like a … soul, is it?"

"No. As far as I understand, men seem to think of the soul – which we call fëa - as something that defines the person who bears it, whereas the galacil, whether it burns bright or dark is entirely dependant and defined by us and our decisions. Also, mortals have the belief that after the death of their hröar – their body - the fëa will live on. The galacil, however, lives and dies with us." The Elf formed a vessel with his hand. "Without something to hold it, it cannot exist."

"But …" Anne was still struggling to follow. "If that - I mean if your people have so much more of that … life power than we do … does that mean that you cannot be killed?"

"No, of course we can be killed. But, as you said, the amount of galacil a mortal carries within himself is extremely small, compared to ours. It connects us with the power of the earth of which it is made. Therefore, if we are not killed by the hand of someone else, or choose to leave this world willingly, that flame inside us burns and lives on - until the earth itself is undone."

Anne stared at him for a moment. "That is to say, you… you are … how old exactly –" she stopped, shaking her head and waving a hand at him, having decided, for now, not to try and wrap her mind around this. "Never mind that. Are you sure, that is what the man was talking about? I mean – what does that mean, 'it is no longer yours'?"

"Oh, I am sure he meant exactly what he said," said Legolas quietly.

"Are you saying … someone might steal it and use the power for themselves? But that is … that makes no sense at all! If that galacil is something like the … the life energy of people and things – how can anyone possibly be able to take it away from them?" Anne had a sudden mental image of someone sucking a bright, sparkling light out of somebody else with a blowpipe. "That sounds completely insane!"

"Yes," Legolas replied calmly as his gaze left her and wandered into the distance, towards the mountains. "That is exactly what one would think, is it not …"

"But, then …" Anne looked at him inquiringly. "What are you saying ...? It is not really possible to actually do that, is it?"

"I did not think it was. Normally, it is impossible I am sure, especially with mortals, as their Galacil is so small. However, if someone found a way to not only absorb but also to use that sort of energy, it would no doubt increase their power immensely. "

"But … even if someone really did find a way to do that," muttered Anne, while rubbing her forehead, where a dull throbbing was beginning to call attention to itself. "Surely that Galacil does not simply leak out of people …"

"No," the Elf said, his eyes still cast into space and his voice distant and cool. "In order to break the bond between someone and his galacil, the power, which connects them – that person's heart would have to be filled with utter darkness."

Anne stared at his profile, an ominous feeling of inexplicable fear suddenly pressing down on her.

"How would that … would something like that happen?"

The Elf said nothing for a while, but when at length he spoke, he might as well have been talking about the weather.

"By committing murder, for example. By hurting or killing someone dear to you."

"But," Anne said swallowing. "Why would anyone do that to someone who is dear to them?"

"Deception … treachery … or even by accident."

"I see, but … that sounds like quite an effort to reach their goal, and it also seems very vague to me. After all, they cannot be sure that it would work, can they? Also, I think … I don't know, somehow I would think that there are worse things that could happen to someone."

"What could be worse than slaying your own kin? Or a friend?" Legolas asked quietly.

"Well, I don't know … being the other one, perhaps? To be murdered, or at least attacked with the intention of murder by someone you thought to be your best friend?"

"Do you really think so?" The Elf's voice was pensive as he turned his gaze back towards her. It was, however, already impossible to make out his expression in the gloom. "Maybe your fear of betrayal is greater than that of guilt. But then, perhaps this kind of pain is not measurable. It would not matter, though. As I said, once the body has died, the spirit's energy becomes useless – it returns to the earth of which it is part."

"How do you know all these things?" Anne asked, frowning, and peering at his face in the swiftly falling dusk. "Have you seen this happening… wait -" A thought had suddenly struck her. "Is that what happened to the altered ones? Someone somehow took away that … galacil of them?"

"No."

Anne saw the dark silhouette of Legolas shake its head.

"Like I told you, the body cannot survive if it is robbed of all its galacil. Those Men and Elves you call altered … what was done to them is something very different – and in a way perhaps much worse."

"So you do know what was done to them?" Despite her surprise, Anne felt a little distracted; there was something odd about what Legolas had said, and she was still trying to work out what it was. "No one in Carrockton seemed to have a clear idea of what it was that happened to them."

"No, they would not know about it," said Legolas, leaning back against the tree. All Anne could see of him was the pale oval of his face and the soft shimmer of starlight reflected in his eyes.

"What changed them is an ancient curse – much older than the history of Men. And even though the one who was the first to cast it does not dwell in this world anymore, many of his evil deeds have stood the test of time and lived on – though, who is making use of them now, I cannot say. "

"And this ancient curse – what …" Anne swallowed. "What exactly does it do?"

"Little is known about it, even amongst my folk. It is believed, however, that it makes people … diminish. It extinguishes everything that defines the character of a person – memories, self-mastery, emotions …"

Anne suddenly saw a group of sordid men in front of her inner eye, grabbing her arms, staring down at her out of fathomless, broken eyes. "Those of them, I … I saw in the forest," she muttered. "They barely resembled humans anymore."

"No," the Elf agreed softly. "They do not know the feelings that would make them human – love, joy and sorrow … or mercy. They have nothing left but their most base and primary instincts. The only thing setting them apart from beasts is that they still know cruelty."

They fell silent for a while; Anne was letting everything she had just heard sink in, while trying to imagine what it might be like not being able to feel emotions anymore. She remembered the pale-haired Elf she had encountered along with those men. The disturbingly blank look in his eyes ... unseeing … dead ...

"That curse," she finally began uncertainly. "Can they … is it reversible?"

"I do not know," Legolas replied quietly, after pausing for a moment, as if surprised by her question. Anne vigorously pulled her thoughts away from the unpleasant memories to address the original topic once more.

"What I still don't understand … what did that supposed healer really mean? What did they want from you? How did they even know …" The question slowly died on her lips as something that still had been nagging at the back of her mind, suddenly came to the surface again and began to make sense.

The body cannot survive if it is robbed of all its galacil

If someone lost all of that energy they would die, Legolas had said. But what if – somehow – only part of it was lost …

Anne remembered meeting Glorfindel and having wondered whether it was merely due to the fact that she was used to Delior that the light shimmering through his skin appeared to be somewhat fainter and paler - compared to the golden haired Elf. Although she had had the distinct impression that Glorfindel was both older and more powerful than Legolas, there was something else, which she had not been able to quite distinguish.

Anne looked up at the Elf, and even though she was barely able to make out the outlines of his features, it was almost like she could see the slightly too prominent cheekbones underneath pale skin, the bluish circles around his eyes, and the tired, slightly haunted look they had about them.

"Those people know about you," Anne said slowly. "Because you have met them before … or at least one of them ... That is what is wrong with you, isn't it?" She stared hard at him, although she could of course not see his expression in the darkness. Everything he had told her ... everything she had discovered and noticed about him during their time together ... suddenly it all made horrible but perfect sense. "Your galacil – you have lost a part of it … that is why he said it did not belong to you anymore …" Anne felt like something cold was pressing down on her insides. "But," she whispered. "You said that in order for that to happen –"

"This is enough for tonight, I think," Legolas interrupted her calmly, while rising soundlessly. "I shall see to the horses, they still need water."

"Legolas," Anne called after him, and saw his dark shape pause.

"What did they do to you?"

The Elf turned his head; the right side of his face was suddenly bathed in pale, colourless moonlight.

"I thought you had already found that out for yourself."

"No - I mean, what … what did they make you do?" she asked quietly.

For a moment he said nothing, and from what she could see of his face, it remained blank. When he spoke, his tone was as calm and level as before – though there was also the hint of something else that she could not quite place.

"I told you before that there are things you would not wish to know about me." A cloud shifted, veiling the moon and casting the Elf's face into shadow. "This is one of them."

With that he finally turned and walked over to the tree group where the horses were tethered. With her mind whirling, Anne stumbled back towards the spot where she had rolled out her blankets, but it should take her a long time to fall asleep that night. Amongst all the answers Legolas had given her, there was one thing that kept floating back to the surface –

… by committing murder …

: : :

The next morning, Anne felt less than rested. Legolas insisted on decamping at an exceptionally unholy time – the sun had not even risen yet, and it did not look like that would happen any time soon. The air still smelled humid and slightly musty, and as far as Anne was able to see in the twilight, the sky was hazy and grey. Only after having some breakfast she slowly began to feel a little bit more awake; while saddling Peg, she thought about everything Legolas had told her the previous evening, and she timidly asked herself how that was supposed to make her feel about him – only to discover that she had no idea at all. Anne had half expected to feel some sort of fear or unease upon looking at him this morning, somehow different from before, but that was not the case.

The thought that he had done something truly horrible – whatever that might have been – seemed as distant and unreal to her as a children's tale. Not that she believed him to be a saint, but she had seen the altered ones and their deeds, and then those men in the village. The thought that he might be capable of doing equally terrible things just seemed so absurd. She remembered him saying that one could be led to do certain things through trickery or treachery, and felt her insides squirm a little. For the umpteenth time she found herself wondering what it could have been, but she knew that, even if she dared to ask him again, he would not tell her.

It was probably for the better; her feelings towards him were complicated enough as it was, that much she realised. Very deliberately Anne had shoved the memory of all the events from before their talk to the very back of her mind – which was slowly but surely becoming rather crammed – and decided not to ponder on them for the time being. During the morning she caught herself watching Legolas every now and then, looking for any sign of affirmation of the knowledge she now had.

The Elf was, however, his usual aloof self, acting (perhaps unsurprisingly) like their conversation from last night had never happened, and if, to Anne's eyes, he looked somewhat paler or more hollow-cheeked than before, it was presumably due to her far too vivid imagination. She was also still unsure as for why he had changed his mind so abruptly, and apparently decided to tell her so much. Whatever his motivation might have been, though, Anne would have liked to say something to him - something to acknowledge the sudden trust he had shown her by talking to her about those things. However, she did not know how to approach the subject, or even what exactly she wanted to tell him, and as the day progressed she lost her courage and gave up on the idea.

:::

It was after nightfall when Legolas finally reined his horse to a stop, and peered through the trees in front of them. Since he made no move to dismount for several moments, Anne rode up next to him; when she reached his side, she saw that he was frowning very slightly.

"What is it? Are we going to –" she began, but was stopped by a swift gesture of his hand.

He then held up the same hand, palm towards her. Anne understood and shortened the reins, while Legolas walked Dûrfang slowly forward, until they had vanished between the trees. Anne felt a sudden fear spread inside her stomach, like a bucket of ice-cold water had been tipped inside it. She remembered very clearly the last time her companion had behaved like this. Anne did not even need to close her eyes to see the ground covered with dead bodies … the horribly mutilated woman … she remembered the sickening, sweetish smell …

Peg seemed to sense her fear; he began to prance nervously, snorted and threw back his head. Anne took a couple of deep breaths and began stroking the horse's neck, while talking calmingly to him – though, perhaps rather to sooth her own nerves.

"It's all right, don't worry. If he wants to lead us right through another graveyard, we will just refuse to take even one more step. Together we should be able to stand up against him, don't you think? At any rate, he is much too imperious for his own good … I bet when he was little, he was the type to bully around other –"

"Forgive me for having to interrupt your plotting," sounded the Elf's dry voice as he stepped out from under the trees again.

Not for the first time Anne wished the plague on him and his catlike tread, but she tried to make her voice sound as serene as possible when she retorted: " I was not plotting. And I assume that it is all right to speak again, then?"

"It is. I even fear that it may turn out inevitable. Come."

He turned and disappeared through the trees once more. Nonplussed, Anne walked her horse after him. She had barely time to wonder what that curious comment of his was supposed to mean and where Dûrfang had got to, when they had already emerged in a small clearing, and her second question was answered. There the dark stallion stood calmly, and next to him – two Elves. Both were dark-haired, clad in grey and brown and, like Legolas, armed with bows and long knives. When they had reached them, the three males exchanged a few quiet words in their own language, ignoring Anne completely, before one of the strange Elves lounged into a longer monologue. He seemed to be explaining something to Legolas, judging from the tone of his voice.

Anne, who had been unsure whether it might not seem rude if she kept sitting on her horse, had slid out of the saddle, and now took the opportunity to take a surreptitious look at the other Elf, whose hair was braided in an elaborate and complicated looking way. When her wandering eyes reached his face she found with a slight shock that he was staring at her. Suddenly his face split into a grin. He turned to Legolas and said something, while nodding his head in her direction. All three of them looked over at her now; Anne defensively folded her arms, while feeling her face heat up. Apart from everything else, she hated not to understand what was being said – especially if it concerned her. The Elf who had been talking to Legolas now appeared to be asking him something; Legolas merely shrugged and asked something in return. The other Elf nodded and pointed into the woods behind them. They exchanged a few more words – then Legolas motioned for Anne to follow him, took back Dûrfang's reins, and they left the clearing and continued on their path through the denser growing trees.

"What did he say?" Anne wanted to know, once she believed them to be out of earshot. "That one with the braids."

Legolas kept still for a few seconds; Perhaps, Anne thought, the Elf had said something rude, and he was wondering how to whitewash it.

"He merely expressed his astonishment at the fact that you were nothing but a child," the Elf finally replied. "He said, after all the noise they had heard, he had been expecting something far bigger."

He obviously had not spent much effort on the whitewashing.

"Who are they?" Anne had decided to ignore the comment. "Do you know them? I thought they did not seem to be from your home."

"No, they are not from the silvan folk. I think I may know some of the others, though."

"'The others'?" Anne asked quickly, a sense of foreboding rising within her.

But Legolas did not need to answer; before them, Anne could now see the flickering light of several campfires shining through the tree trunks, and the murmur of soft, melodic voices became audible. A dark figure suddenly appeared on the path in front of them; he muttered something that could have been a greeting, when he passed them, and then disappeared into the direction they had come from. Anne twisted her head round to look after the person, but the darkness had already swallowed him, and after she had stumbled across a tree root she hastily turned back forward. Someone was singing in a low, very clear voice; she could not understand the words, but it was absolutely entrancing all the same. They went round a thicket and suddenly stood at the fringe of another clearing, and Anne blinked into the firelight.

"Mae Govannen, Legolas!" called someone. For some strange reason, Anne remembered those to be the words Glorfindel had used as well, when they had met him. It had been the first time she had heard someone speak in that language. She curiously looked about her, while breathing in the homely smell of log fires and earth. She got a brief glimpse of many fair faces, bathed in the warm, yellowish-orange glow of the flames of four or five fires, before she got distracted by someone else speaking to them; although the voice had the clear, deep, but bright quality she already recognised as elvish, the words were not.

"Hail, Legolas! It gladdens my heart to see you, truly – but what have you brought us there! A chick with no feathers? A barrel of the good Dorwinion wine would have served better purpose for merrymaking and amusement."

Anne's jaw dropped. She was beginning to suspect that, amongst Elves, impudence was perhaps a cultural mannerism. 'A chick with no feathers'? A Chick? The reverence she had felt upon suddenly standing in the middle of this group waned rapidly, while glaring at the Elf who had made the comment and who was now getting up from the fire he had been sitting at, and strode over to them. He was lean but broad-shouldered; his black hair was tied together at the back of his neck. When he reached them, he grinned down at Anne, and took the reins from her hand. Somehow there was something disquieting about his eyes, but before she could put a finger on it, he had looked away. Legolas said something in his own language which made the other Elf laugh - then he handed him Dûrfang's reins as well and led Anne to one of the campfires, where he spoke a couple of words to the Elves sitting there. He then told Anne to sit down and that soon someone would bring her something to eat and drink.

Anne nodded and watched as he turned and went over to another fire, where she could see him greet a tall, dark-haired Elf clad in a silvery-grey cloak, who had risen and grasped his arm, before both sat down together. She sighed and sat down too, quickly glancing about herself, but not daring to stare at anyone too long. Those sitting at the fire with her, had politely made room for her, but apart from one or two mildly curious glances, it appeared that she was being ignored. Anne suddenly felt very self-conscious; not knowing what to do with her hands, she hugged her knees and turned her gaze into the flames. Perhaps ten minutes later she was given a bowl of hot, full-flavoured soup, smelling deliciously of fresh herbs, as well as some bread that tasted of honey and poppy seeds.

After a while, the Elf who was sitting next to Anne moved to the side - away from her. 'Maybe I should not take it personally,' she thought sardonically. "They probably have no idea what to think of me.'

She briefly wondered whether she might not simply stink to high heaven, offending all the noses around her, which were presumably just as sensitive as she had already learned it from Legolas. Then, however, she realised that the Elf had merely moved over in order to make room for someone else, who now settled down in the vacated spot next to her. Looking up, she recognised the black-haired Elf who had taken the horses from them. He returned the look Anne was giving him, and upon seeing the expression on her face he smiled in a slightly unnerving way. He was holding a wooden cup in one hand, from which he now took a sip.

"I am so glad to see that you did not have to do without your wine after all." The words slipped out before she could mentally censor them.

His smile broadened. "Oh, but I did," he said silkily, waving the cup in front of her face. "You see?"

Anne stared down at the cup, wondering whether he actually expected her to be able to identify its content in the darkness.

"What was that about wine?" someone asked.

"Nothing, unfortunately," replied the black-haired Elf, giving Anne a truly captivating smile.

She suddenly realised what was so strange about his eyes: they were too pale - a very clear light grey or blue, heavily contrasted with the jet-black of his lashes and brows, that gave his eyes a permanently penetrating look.

"I am merely proving my innocence," he now continued. (At this, one of the other Elves snorted and muttered something that raised soft laughter here and there, but was ignored by the one it had been directed at.) "… to our little guest here. However, it appears that she is angered at me for some reason."

"Now, Tirianor," said the one who had snorted. "Possibly that is due to your rudeness." He turned towards Anne. "Pay him no heed, young lady. Regretfully, this fellow here deems himself overly witty …"

"Astonishing, Celendir," said Tirianor. "I might not have recognised the 'young lady' underneath all the mud. Admit it, someone told you –"

"Excuse me - I am right here," spluttered Anne. "If you feel the need to talk about me, at least do it in your own language so I don't have to hear …" She trailed off as everyone around her had gone very quiet. Then they began to laugh.

"I take back everything!" Tirianor chuckled. "She is a lot more entertaining than I thought."

Anne was casting around for an angry retort – but Tirianor had suddenly gotten to his feet and taken her hand in one swift, fluid motion, and now bowed low over it.

"Forgive us," he said in a voice so kind and gentle it was difficult to harbour any more grudge. "On behalf of my companions - we have been very rude indeed."

"You have been rude, you meant to say, surely?" said a blonde Elf, who had raised his eyebrows.

"No, Silivhar, I did not, but thank you," Tirianor replied, the haughtiness almost dripping off every syllable. "And now kindly stop confusing the poor thing, she had to suffer the frivolities of you lot for long enough."

The Elf named Celendir and one or two others began to protest half-heartedly, but they quickly stopped and instead laughed at the expression on Silivhar's face. Even Anne felt the corners of her mouth curl suspiciously. No matter what she had said before, she was glad that they were not speaking in their own language. Somehow she felt more included now, even though they mostly talked about and not to her, and were being a bit silly. Also, despite his mockery Tirianor had managed to make her forget her self-consciousness and that, a mere half hour ago, she had felt so intimidated and out of place.

"Now, little chick," Tirianor said, while sitting down again. "Where did Legolas pick you up from?"

"I do have a name, you know. And he did not pick me up from anywhere, we simply … sort of … stumbled across each other …"

Tirianor picked up his cup once more. "What is it, then?"

Anne frowned. "What is what? It's nothing, I simply got separated from the people I had been travelling with, and he … er …"

"No, your name, silly – what is your name?"

"Oh! Anne."

"O-Ên?"

"Oh dear, that was not even remotely ingenious, Tirianor …"

"Be quiet, Celendir, or am I talking to you? Anne, hmm… still, a little strange. Is that foreign?"

"It is short for Elena," Anne said hastily. She did not exactly fancy explaining about herself and her situation right now. "Where do you come from – not from the Eryn Lasgalen?"

"No, no, we are from Rivendell. Have you ever heard of it?"

Anne frowned, sure she had heard that name before. Then she remembered. "Imladris! That is Rivendell, is it not? Does not Glorfindel live there?"

For a moment, Tirianor's eyes widened in surprise. "Ai, it would seem you have seen quite a lot in your young live, and already met several highborn lords. You know Glorfindel?"

Anne shook her head. "Well, I do not really know him. I only met him once, to be exact. He came to speak with Delior – I mean, Legolas – about two weeks after he er… found me, and that was the only time I saw him, so …"

"You call him Delior?" Tirianor asked slightly amused.

"What? No …" Anne was still trying to get used to the Elf's apparent habit of dropping one subject and jumping to the next. "I mean, yes, I did – that was the name he told me to call him when we first met. I only learned his real name after Glorfindel's visit –"

"Visit? I thought he took you with him and you have been travelling ever since. So, you have seen Thranduil's halls as well?"

"No," said Anne. "No, I have never been there. We were …" She hesitated. Although Tirianor appeared to know Legolas, he did not seem to know about the nomadic existence the latter was leading. Perhaps Legolas did not want people to know … Also, Anne somehow suspected that the idea of only the two of them 'staying' in the same cave (even if one of them was injured) for several weeks might be slightly frowned upon. "It was not a visit, really. We, er – sort of ran into each other. It was more of a coincidence, I think."

Tirianor, however, already seemed to have lost interest in the matter. "And he told you that his name was Delior?"

"Well, he said, some people called him that." Anne shrugged, wondering why the Elf was so interested in this.

"Did he, now?" Tirianor said slowly, while a strange, ironic smile was forming on his fair face. "How odd … I wonder why he would do that."

"I am sorry … but what is so odd?" Anne asked curiously.

Tirianor, who had glanced over to the fire where Legolas was sitting, turned his piercing gaze back on Anne. "Do you know the meaning of the name Delior?"

"No … what is it?"

The Elf's eyes narrowed and his smile became more catlike. "Someone who flees the light."

"'Someone who flees...' -"

But Anne was interrupted when someone called something in elvish. She turned and looked up; two Elves carrying bows were standing next to their fire, apparently waiting for Tirianor to join them. The black-haired Elf had already jumped to his feet.

"You will have to excuse me, lady, I am afraid," he said, bowing gracefully to her. "I would like nothing better than to enjoy your company all evening, but alas, duty calls. Good night!"

With that he turned and followed the other two, away from the fires and into the darkness beyond the trees. Anne looked after him for a moment, and then glanced over at Legolas – but he still appeared to be in conversation with the dark Elf who she had seen him greet before. She thought about what Tirianor had said for a while, and finally decided to ask Legolas himself about that name, as soon as she would get the chance. Nothing came of her plan that night, though. Shortly after Tirianor had left, she suddenly became so tired that she dozed off right where she was sitting – to the great amusement of those around her.

After that, one of the Elves at her fire led her to a spot a couple of feet away from the fires where hazel bushes formed a natural shelter. The Elves had somehow managed to use twigs, fir sprigs and her blankets to build a sweet smelling, soft mattress. Within seconds – so it seemed to her – Anne had fallen asleep.

: : :

"You are quiet."

Legolas sighed, tearing his gaze away from the flames to look at the slightly worried face of the Elf next to him.

"I have told you everything I know. Also, it seems to me that little of it was news to you."

Elrohir leaned forward, resting his chin in one hand. "That is not what I mean."

"I feel weary."

"I cannot remember ever having seen you weary."

"Then you may not be as perceptive as you think."

"Perhaps - though there remains the possibility that you have not told me everything, after all." When Elrohir received no reply he continued: "At any rate, many things have changed since I last saw you."

"It seems like Tirianor has not changed."

"Did you expect him to?"

They both watched Tirianor bow to Anne in an exaggerated way, before leaving for his guard duty.

"If indeed, it becomes worse the older he gets," muttered Elrohir. "Which is paradox, for he is well-read and highly articulate. Also he is a credit to his ancestry in the matter of craft. It is fair to say that his skill in the forge is something this world has not seen in several ages."

"So I have heard," Legolas said softly. "I also heard about other qualities of his – and not all of them are quite as praised."

Elrohir sighed. "Yes, he has to be reined in every now and then. He can be rather captivating if he means to, though."

Legolas shot him a short glance. "And that is your opinion?"

"My wife's."

"Aah."

"It seems like your charge there shares her view on the matter." Elrohir watched the woman for a while. "Why did you bring her here, Legolas?"

"I told you. An unfortunate series of events – I had little choice."

"Yes, I understand that you could not leave her there. After her injury had healed, however, why did you not take her to your own people? She would have been safe in your father's realm, and also it would have been closest." Elrohir paused for a while, but Legolas said nothing. "So, you would not return … not even to bring someone innocent to safety –"

"She is safe." Legolas looked up at the other Elf, his face darkened. "Are you accusing me of endangering that girl?"

"Are you arguing that you did not?" Elrohir shook his head. "We have fought side by side - I know you to be more considerate than this."

Legolas remained silent for a moment, while Elrohir watched him. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and distant. "As long as she is with me, nothing will happen to her. In Bree she will be amongst her own people. Do you not agree that this is better for her?"

"That may be true," replied Elrohir. "You should not forget though, Legolas – sometimes the only way to face our ghosts is to turn back."

"I know," said Legolas quietly.

: : :

The following morning passed in a blur of activity Anne was not used to anymore. The atmosphere within the Imladris group, although very organised and well-attuned, seemed rather noisy and chaotic, compared to her usual morning scenario. The breakfast was exceptionally good in Anne's opinion, but when she confided this to an Elf who handed her a cup of something that appeared to be hot fruit tea, he merely laughed disbelievingly. Legolas was sitting at the same fire with her this time, but Anne's hope that being amongst his near-kinsmen might lighten up his mood was sadly disappointed. None of the Elves she had met the night before were present either, so she too ate her meal in silence, blinking into the early-morning haze. There was not even a chance to bid anyone goodbye as their departure – like always – was rather rushed. While mounting, Anne thought she saw Celendir at the other end of the camp and waved at him; the Elf returned the gesture, but he was too far away for her to be sure of his identity.

Having spent one evening in the merry company of the Elves, to Anne it felt like Legolas was even more withdrawn than usual. It took her several hours to bring herself to address him, but she was aware that they would probably reach Bree in a few days, and she had a feeling that she might regret it later, if she simply let the hours pass in silence.

"Legolas?"

He turned his head to look at her; it had started to drizzle about an hour ago, and they had both drawn up their hoods against the faint but persistent rain.

Anne urged Peg forward so they were on the same height. "May I ask you something?"

"I think so."

She frowned. "Promise to answer."

"I will not promise you anything."

"Oh, all right then … why did you not tell me your real name when we first met?"

He glanced at her, before concentrating on the path before them once more. Anne could not tell whether he was surprised by the question or not.

"Did you not do the same?"

"What?" she said, completely taken aback. "I? I did no such thing!"

"Is not your real name Elena, then?"

"How … when did you – oh, never mind …" Gossip travelled fast amongst Elves, it seemed. "Elena was the name my … my brother told the people in Carrockton, when we arrived there. But he died, there is no one else I could ask, and … that name does not feel … familiar. Not at all." Anne paused, trying to form words around her thoughts. "It just seemed strange, and … honestly, as far as I am concerned, that name feels like it belongs to a past that has nothing to do with me any more." To her own surprise she found that this was true. She had not even realised it herself, but during the last weeks she had begun to put that burden of not knowing – not being able to remember anything - behind her somehow. For the time being, she was content with the present and the near future.

"So I did not lie to you," she concluded. "To me, that does not feel like my name."

How had he managed to make this conversation about her, by the way?

"I see," the Elf said slowly. "Perhaps it is not so different with me. My name is part of another time and place … it is a bearer of things I am supposed to have left behind on the way …"

"You mean … you are not the person you used to be?" Anne asked cautiously.

He was silent for a moment, before he said: "Maybe not."

"Would you … would you like me to stop using that name? I mean – should I rather go back to calling you –"

"No," he said with surprising firmness, before looking sideways at her. "No, call me by my name, if you like."

:::

A little later, Legolas stopped and surveyed the ground, looking very thoughtful. Anne brought Peg to a halt next to Dûrfang, staring down as well, to see what might have caught the Elf's attention. They were back on the road once more, though it was now extremely muddy from the constant rain.

"What is wrong?" she finally asked, not having been able to spot anything remarkable, apart from several ruts in the road.

"Can you see those tracks? They were made by a cart …"

"Yes," Anne said uncertainly, wondering what was supposed to be so fascinating about cartwheel tracks on a road.

"They are fresh … only a few hours old …"

Puzzled, Anne watched him as he pensively stared at the tracks for a few more seconds, and then let his eyes wander about the landscape surrounding them. He did not elaborate however, but urged his horse into a trot. Nonplussed, Anne followed behind.

"Are you trying to catch up with that cart?" she called out to him.

"Yes," he replied simply.

Accepting the fact that she was obviously not about to get an explanation, Anne pulled her hood closer around her face, while holding on to her horse's mane with the other hand. She was not sure for how long they had ridden through the rain, when Legolas stopped again. She had been holding her head as low as possible, and only looked up when she felt her horse slowing down. Legolas had turned his stallion half around and was looking at her. When he told her to dismount, she first thought she had misheard him. When he made an impatient sound and repeated the order more urgently, she slid out of the saddle and stared up at him.

What on earth was going on?

"Come here," he said, holding out a hand to her.

Anne hesitantly reached up and took it; she felt herself being pulled up, and the next moment she was sitting behind Legolas on Dûrfang's back.

"Hold on to me."

"What? But… wait -"

He did not wait. Instead he urged the dark stallion forward and into a canter, so abruptly that Anne had merely time to squeak and (already seeing herself swish down the animal's smooth back) to throw both arms about his waist and cling on for dear life. She did not even try to see what was going on in front of them, but pressed her face against the Elf's warm back between his shoulder blades, ignoring the muscles in her arms that were beginning to protest. Her heart seemed to be racing in the same rhythm as the horse's hooves.

Suddenly Legolas made an angry sound, and Anne felt his body tense as he strung his bow, while they were slowing down.

She finally dared to look past his left shoulder; they had found the cart. It looked strangely lopsided – the front axle had veered of the road and one of the front wheels had slid down the bank. She saw someone running along the cart, grabbing for something. There was a furious cry and the sound of splattering mud. Anne rather felt than saw Legolas bend and then release his bow; there was another cry; a shout, and then she saw two or three figures running away. They had already vanished into the thicket, at the side of the road when they reached the cart. Legolas did not seem to intend on following them, however. He jumped off his horse, so swiftly he nearly pulled Anne down with him, and strode towards a large bundle that was lying in a pool of mud, and was now beginning to stir and moan.

Legolas reached down, seized the bundle and turned it around. It seemed to be a young boy; he now began swearing very colourfully and wiping his mud-smeared face. Only – his face was not that of a child, and neither was his voice (not to mention the curses). Anne stared at this peculiar appearance, and then her eyes searched the face of Legolas in order to see his reaction to this phenomenon. It was not the one she had expected. In fact, it was nothing she had expected to ever see upon his features – it was a smile.

A real, genuine, joyful smile, and what it did to his face – the way it changed it completely – actually took her breath away for a moment. She suddenly could see him how he must have been before: untarnished and whole, full of vigour and delight. Anne was dimly aware that she was gaping at him, but fortunately no one noticed that.

"My dear Peregrin Took - stop fidgeting, or I will drop you back into that puddle!" Legolas said, laughter in his voice.

The small figure stopped cursing and tried to peer up into the Elf's face, finally giving a cry of surprise.

"Legolas?"

**III III III**

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	20. Concerning Friends, Sharing Strangers

**[Edit (28th of August****) :** Ch. 21 should be out either monday morning or, at the very latest, monday evening. Thanks so much for your patience ;)

* * *

**:::**

**III III III**

„I must have been knocked out and now be lying in peaceful slumber," said Peregrin Took. "Or I am awake and hallucinating. I thought you were in Ithilien!"

"You seem wide awake to me, and in your right senses, as far as I can tell," Legolas replied. "I have seen you in better shape however, if I may say so."

"You may," said the Halfling – for as such Anne had identified him in the meantime (there really was not much room for doubt). "Since you would say whatever you like anyways, no matter what I think of it. Mind you, I suppose you have a point." He looked woefully down his ruined garments. "This coat was brand-new! And those scoundrels were able to flee!"

"That may turn out to be the least of your worries, Pippin," said Legolas, looking the waggon, which was laden with boxes, little barrels and a small pile of bright orange pumpkins, up and down. "It appears that your pony has fled as well."

"Ha!" said Pippin. "Then it must indeed be a marvellous beast, if it was able to unbuckle its own harness. I should have paid a lot more for it! No, those ruffians must have taken it with them. Well, I'm sorry that I won't see how they fare with the pony; it is lazier than the fattest and most sluggish Hobbit one can imagine, and more stiff-necked than a Dwarf – or an Elf for that matter, depending on the point of view."

"It appears that you have recovered from your shock quite magnificently ," said Legolas with a slight frown. "Now, may I ask – Were you really foolish enough to travel on your own?"

"I'm glad that you seem to have so much trust in me and my abilities to fend for myself. But if you must know – I had my son Faramir with me."

"What! And where is he now? Unless he is hidden in one of these barrels, which, I am afraid, is beyond the skill of even a Hobbit."

"Where do you think he is," said Pippin, while brushing off his clothes as best as he could. "Still in Rivendell of course. He is going to stay there for six month – then a group of wardens and scouts will take him back to the shire on their way to the havens."

„Now, that is a relief to hear," the Elf sighed. "And as for my trust in you and your strength – I love you dearly, and probably think more highly of you than you will ever realise, but to journey alone in these times was reckless nonetheless. So you were in Rivendell? Elrohir mentioned nothing of it."

"Well, that would be because he doesn't know about it," answered Pippin. "He was not there during our stay, and I think he had already left when we arrived – that was about a month ago. But there will be time to chat later – how shall I get my cart out of the ditch - not to mention back home with no pony?"

"That will be manageable," said Legolas. "We tie a rope to the rear axle and have one of the horses pull it out of there. If the three of us - or at least two - push from the other side, it should not be too difficult. Once it is back on the road, we can harness Peg to it; the small cart is light enough for him. We cannot go further with you than Bree, but there, you will surely be able to get another pony."

"'We'?" echoed Pippin, looking puzzled. He then turned his head to the side, following the Elf's eyes, and finally spotted Anne. For a moment he gazed at her, with his mouth open. Anne almost laughed – his look of surprise was so comical.

"Well there is an eye-opener, and the most extraordinary one I've seen of late!" Pippin said at length.

This time, Anne really did laugh, but she also quickly slid off Dûrfang's back and attempted a courtesy – although this was rather to get on eyelevel with the Hobbit; he was about four feet tall.

"Well met, Master … Peregrin Took. My name is Anne."

The Hobbit laughed. It probably was a good thing he had not seen her staring at him before.

"Well met, Lady Anne. You must think me terribly rude! Over all the bush robbers and being rescued by old friends, I have indeed overlooked you, sitting up there."

"Oh no, not at all, please don't worry about it," Anne hastened to assure him. "I have seen and heard a lot of rude things lately, and trust me – you are not."

It was meant as a joke (although she knew that Peregrin would not grasp the meaning of it), but she still avoided looking in the Elf's direction – even as the latter now spoke.

"At least you admit that you had to be rescued."

"No, I don't. I admit you rescued me, but I still think I might have got back the upper hand, if you had not arrived in time to act all lordly and heroic. I was caught by surprise - that was all. I had my weapon close at hand all the while." He indicated a small sword – about the size of a long dagger – that hung at his belt in a beautifully wrought sheath.

"Maybe," said Legolas, looking doubtful. "But whatever may or may not have happened – now we had better get to work. As you said, there will be time for chatting later."

It was a bit more difficult than they had thought. The front wheels of the small waggon were stuck deep in the mud, and Pippin insisted on helping Legolas push the vehicle from the other side, while Anne led Dûrfang by the reins. Anne found his gallantry very endearing – but at the same time she had a feeling that they would have been a lot faster, had he not been quite so stubborn. Dûrfang was not used to being roped to something large and heavy - let alone pulling it - and apparently did not like this new challenge very much: He kept prancing on the spot instead of walking forward, and twice nearly trod on Anne's foot.

In the end, Legolas and Anne had to switch places, and only then the horse deigned to obey. Finally the waggon was on the road again. Anne went to fetch Peg, who, after they had ridden off, had followed Dûrfang at a more leisure pace, and until now had been grazing at the side of the road. With Pippin's help they harnessed the smaller horse to the waggon; this went much smoother then everything else. The piebald seemed to know what was expected from him, and behaved so well that Anne was in fact quite proud.

Half an hour later, she was sat next to Pippin in the driving-seat, while Legolas was back on Dûrfang's back and riding alongside them. The situation felt a bit odd for a while, since she was strangely reminded of her departure from Carrockton - but really not for very long. The Hobbit turned out to be as brilliant a distraction from unbidden thoughts as one could wish for.

"… and of course he had been told that the town hole-roof needed fixing for months, but Will Whitfoot has never been one to listens to anyone sensible. So, unsurprising for everybody, the whole thing collapsed while that fat old Hobbit was in there … he was buried in debris, covered in chalk powder - and so he came out, puffing and swearing, looking like a giant floured dumpling – you should have seen it!"

"I almost feel like I have," said Anne, snickering.

"Yes, so do I," Legolas chimed in. "I also feel like I have heard that story before … or otherwise Hobbit-anecdotes do not vary very much."

Pippin opened his mouth to protest – but Anne was quicker.

"Oh, be quiet, if you only want to mock," she laughed. "I haven't had this much fun since … well, for a very long time at any rate."

Legolas raised an eyebrow at her, but Pippin burst out laughing. "Well, Legolas – it would seem that here we have found someone to match Elves as far as loose tongues go. Thank you, Lady Anne."

"You are quite welcome," said Anne with a grin. "But please call me Anne. I don't know, but somehow '_Lady Anne_' sounds like I am about sixty."

"Well, then I insist that you call me Pippin, and drop all the 'Master Peregrin Took'-nonsense. And what, by the way, is so bad about being sixty? I'll have you know that I turned sixty-six this year!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Anne gazed at him incredulously. "I would never have guessed!"

"Well, for a Hobbit I _am_ still in my best years, if I may say so myself. One of my ancestors, Gerantius Took, reached a hundred and thirty, and old Bilbo Baggins …"

"'Someone to match _Hobbits_ as far as loose tongues go', may perhaps be closer to the truth, after all," the voice of Legolas could be heard. "So as long as I am still permitted to speak, tell some actual news from the shire, Pippin. How are Sam and Merry?"

"I'm flattered that you should ask, seeing of how little importance our matters and goings-on usually are to you big folk," said Pippin grinning. "Sam and Merry are both quite well. Sam was elected mayor for the fifth time in a row, and Merry spends much time in our new library – he is still occupied with his 'Herblore of the Shire'. Oh, and his son – Éodred - came of age last summer. He is visiting Sam's daughter Elanor and her husband Fastred in Undertowers at the moment, I think. You may not have heard, but the Westmarch is officially part of the shire, now – thanks to Aragorn, of course. I appointed Fastred warden of that region, and he and Elanor moved there at the end of last year."

"Ah, the young Lady Elanor," said the Elf with a smile that once again caused Anne to do a double take. "How is she?"

"Oh, that's right, you met her during that year they spent in Gondor. She will be happy to hear that you remembered her."

"How could I not remember her? She informed me that my ears were lopsided."

"What!" spluttered Pippin, while Anne started to laugh.

"In a very regretful tone, that much shall be said. And she did praise the rest of my appearance in the same breath."

"Ah, well - she can be a bit … cheeky, there is no denying that, I'm afraid," said Pippin, frowning slightly. "Sam spoiled her quite a bit, if you ask me. She has been married for almost five years now, but that certain habit of hers hasn't changed much, from what I hear."

"No, that would have been a pity," answered Legolas. She very much reminded me of a certain other young Hobbit … he once said something to me about Elves sleeping on perches like birds."

"Aah, now you are misrepresenting the facts, Legolas, and you know it," Pippin said matter-of-factly. "All I said was that _I_ could not sleep on a perch."

"As opposed to the habit of Elves."

"I see, you are just as touchy as you were then," the Hobbit said over Anne's giggling. "And also, as I recall, your retort back then was that I should 'dig a hole in the ground, if that was more after the fashion of my kind'. Yes, don't deny it - I remember it rather clearly. But that only proves my point: You Elvish folk are always quite ready to dish out, but not so much if it comes to taking it."

Legolas laughed softly. "So, whom did you discuss that with?"

"Lindir, back in Rivendell. I have rarely met such a stiff-necked fellow."

"Perhaps you should have introduced him to your pony?" Anne suggested.

"I did. He was not amused. Oh, and Legolas - don't think that your little remark on barrels escaped my notice … I heard that story from dear old Bilbo often enough. And if you did remember it correctly, you should know that it was not the Hobbit hidden in the barrel, but the Dwarves."

"Very much to my father's chagrin, yes," answered the Elf.

Anne looked questioningly from one to the other. "What story? Dwarves stuck in barrels?"

"Oh, it is one of the big stories – and a true one, mark you." Pippin said at once. "One of the greatest adventures in Hobbit-lore, and that is saying something. It was almost a hundred years ago … Bilbo had just turned fifty-three, and I was not even born, when –"

"Please, no!" Legolas interrupted. "No matter what you think, Pippin, I have heard that tale in length and detail - and more than once, for that matter. Anne, is there really nothing else you would like to ask him?"

"Well, yes – actually there is," Anne said eagerly (though privately deciding to ask Pippin for that story as soon as the chance might present itself). "Why would it be after a Hobbit's kind to dig a hole in the ground?"

"For that is how they built their dwellings," the Elf said before Pippin had a chance to speak. "A bit like rabbit holes, if you like."

Uncertainly, Anne glanced at Legolas. "Really?"

He twisted around on his horse's back to look at her, but merely answered with a slight shift of his eyebrows, which for some reason caused her stomach to do a little somersault.

"Stop it, Legolas, you are giving her an entirely wrong idea," Pippin now said impatiently. "Well, that won't do at all. Let me tell you one or two things about Hobbits, Anne."

"Oh dear," said Legolas. "That will occupy us all the way to Bree, and presumably a few days more."

"Well, I would love to hear everything you are willing to tell me," Anne said, talking over the Elf. "After all, I have never met a Hobbit before."

"You have just sealed both our fates," Legolas said dryly, but Pippin seemed rather taken with the idea.

"Excellent!" he said, looking quite pleased.

And thus, Anne was treated to a very profound lesson in Hobbit-lore – of their laws and customs, of their achievements and great deeds, of somehow noteworthy or remarkable events in their history, and – of course – of Hobbit genealogy.

Anne heard of Bolgers, Proudfoots, Burrowses, Bagginses and Brandybucks, of Chubbs, Grubbs, Bracegirdles, and Brockhouses - and especially about the lineage of Tooks, which apparently was a very old and reputable family that had produced plenty of the most noble, stout and brave Hobbits known to their kind.

The lecture on home-grown pipe-weed was interrupted when they stopped to make camp for the night. There, the Hobbit rose even higher in Anne's esteem, when he conjured up a frying pan, a bag of potatoes, and a small basket with tomatoes and mushrooms.

"They gave me a couple of eggs, too, but I already had them for breakfast," he told a very thrilled Anne. "I reckon we can still make a descent supper out of this, though."

"Never mind the eggs, this is great!" said Anne. "Potatoes! I had no idea how much I have missed potatoes until right now."

Looking slightly amused (though completely understanding) at her excitement, Pippin climbed back up onto the cart in order to search for some herbs and a bit of seasoning to "polish the whole thing up", while Anne began peeling the potatoes. A couple of minutes later she nearly cut her finger off, when the Hobbit, who had been rummaging about on the waggon, suddenly gave a scream of horror.

"What happened? What is wrong?" Anne shouted anxiously, while scrambling to her feet and running towards him.

"Look at that!" Pippin cried, pointing at a yellowish white and red pile of something that was looking very squishy. Anne stared at it for a moment, before realising that it was the wreckage of a particularly large pumpkin.

"And that was the biggest, most splendid and shapely one from all of them," the Hobbit complained.

"You had better be glad that it was not your head," said Legolas, who had dropped several logs and the little hatchet Pippin had lent him for chopping the firewood, in order to rush over to them. "Your pumpkin is a small sacrifice for a rather good outcome."

"Since you mention it, Legolas - there is something I still don't understand. How did you even know it was me?" Pippin asked, while regretfully handing Anne the remnants of the pumpkin.

"I did not. I was sure, however, that it was a Hobbit whom we were following. The hoof marks were those of a pony, not a horse – and also I could tell from the traces of the wheels that it was a small and light cart – different to those Men or Dwarves, or even Elves use. This area is very far from home for most of the little folk, though, which narrowed down the possibilities quite a lot."

"And how come you arrived just in time for those ruffians showing their ugly faces?"

"That was indeed a strange chance. For we had almost reached you, when I suddenly heard your pony neigh and the shouts of the robbers. But enough of this now! Do you intend to help at all, or only to sit there and mourn over your vegetables?"

:::

After a wonderful meal of roast potatoes, baked tomatoes and mushrooms, Legolas muttered something about having another look around and disappeared into the darkness, while Anne – who felt still quite awake, despite the commotions from earlier – went to join Pippin at the fire. The Hobbit had lit up a small wooden pipe and was now smoking it, looking deeply contented with life. He looked up when Anne sat down next to him.

"Not tired yet? Ah, you do not mind the pipe smell, do you?"

"No, not at all. I sort of like it, actually. And no, I am not tired yet. I was just thinking … indeed I was hoping …"

The Hobbit looked at her curiously. "Yes?" When she still hesitated, he brandished his pipe at her in what was probably supposed to be an encouraging manner. "Out with it, I'm not getting any younger."

"Well, I was hoping … whether perhaps now might be a good time to tell that true story about the hobbit and the dwarves in barrels." Anne said hopefully.

"Ah …" Pippin smiled, before blowing out several small rings of silvery smoke. "'There and back again.'"

"What?"

"That is what Bilbo called it. Bilbo, you must know, is the Hobbit from that story – the one who went on that adventure. I must say it is curious that a lass from the big folk is interested in a Hobbit-tale – although it is of course much more than that … Well then, so be it! Let me think - where to begin … Ah, yes –

It was a fine summer's day (At least I think it was), and Bilbo Baggins was sitting outside his front door, enjoying the sun and a good pipe, when a stranger came by – someone looking indeed so peculiar that none of his like had ever been seen in the shire before. The stranger was a wizard – and his name was Gandalf …"

And so Pippin told Anne how the wizard named Gandalf made Bilbo Baggins a proposition: to go with him and thirteen Dwarves – one of them King Thorin Oakenshield himself – to the far away Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, in order to seek a treasure that had been stolen from the Dwarves a long time ago; how they met trolls and went to Rivendell to stay in the house of the famous, mighty, old Elf named Elrond (who Anne learned was the father of Elrohir); how they were captured by orcs, and how Bilbo got separated from his companions and in the darkness found a golden ring – and then met the creature named Gollum, who challenged Bilbo to a riddle contest …

At that point, of course, Anne realised that she had heard this part of the story before – from Legolas. But since the Elf had not even got as far as the outcome of the riddle contest, she kept quiet and listened with rapt attention. Legolas returned after a while; he threw the pair of them a look, but did not say anything. Anne barely noticed it - she sat in wonder, trying to imagine the person named Beorn, shuddered at the thought of the giant spiders, and marvelled at Bilbo's ingenious plan to get the butler and the captain of the guards drunk in order to free his imprisoned friends, and then smuggle the Dwarves out of Thranduil's palace by using the empty wine barrels, thus effectively having the Elves 'punt' the lot of them to Esgaroth.

After this, however, Pippin insisted that they both needed some sleep.

"It is late, and we will have quite a few miles to cover tomorrow, if we want to reach Bree before nightfall."

Anne felt nerves bundle up in her stomach at the mention of Bree; with everything that had happened lately she had not really thought about the fact that she would soon have to say farewell to the Elf – and now to the Hobbit, too.

'I must not think about that now,' she told herself. 'I still have one more day, I can worry about those things when there is actually something to worry about.'

Her mental self-encouragement helped little however. Until not so long ago, she had thought that it would be a good thing to finally get rid of the Elf and be with her own people again. Now, however … she could not help thinking that maybe parting with him was not what she wanted, anymore. Of course, that was only the fear of the unknown – after all, she had no idea what awaited her in Bree, aside from a new crowd of strangers, and that in itself was not a very comforting prospect. Then again, once she would have settled in, she probably would have a good life in Bree – and surely more comfortable than the one she was leading now. And as for Legolas … She obviously had been capable of getting along without him before, so why should that be a problem now?

There was, however, that nagging thought that things might not be quite that simple. People would ask questions, no doubt … would want to why she had no home, or no other place to go. What if they did not want her there?

Pippin seemed to have guessed what was going on inside her head.

"Don't worry, lass," he said kindly. "Things will turn out all right, you shall see."

Anne had taken herself by surprise by telling him her story – as far as she knew it herself. She did not know why the Elf thought so highly of Pippin, but it had taken only half a day for her to grow quite fond of the Hobbit. His reaction to her account had been a mix of wonder and sympathy, but he had also given the impression that what she had told him was by far not the strangest thing he had ever heard. Somehow, that had made her heart feel much lighter.

"I know a few people in Bree," Pippin said now. "It will not take long for you to get to know half the town, I daresay. Also, I myself live only a couple of days away – should you be in need of someone sensible to talk to, once in a while."

Anne laughed. "Thank you! That is good to know indeed. I suppose it is only because I was so isolated these last few weeks. Being amongst people again will no doubt be strange at first, but …you are right, of course – there is no use worrying about it now."

"No use and no need. And to keep you from doing that tomorrow, I shall tell you the rest of the story while we travel. Agreed?"

Anne nodded, grinning. "Agreed."

A little later, when Pippin had already wrapped himself in his blankets a couple of feet away from the fire and was snoring quietly, Anne had still made no move to lie down on her own bed. Her eyes had wandered repeatedly over to Legolas, who was sitting on a fallen tree, his arms about his knees and seemingly lost in thought. Having made up her mind, she at last got to her feet. This might very well be the last chance for her to speak with him in (relative) private, and there still was something she needed to do.

**: : :**

Legolas did neither stir, nor lift his gaze when the woman approached him and then halted, next to his tree. It seemed like she had something on her mind, so he deliberately waited for her to make the first move. After a few moments, however, he realised that she would probably stand there all night if he did not acknowledge her presence in some way.

Females …

When he looked up, he saw that she was regarding him in an odd way – as if unsure about what she wanted to do or say.

At length, she indicated the spot on the tree next to him.

"Would you mind if I sat down?"

Legolas waited with the answer – more out of habit, it had to be admitted – but she waited patiently, obviously having expected this. Without wanting it he felt his mouth curve into half a smile.

"No."

He caught her stare at his face in a puzzled way before she quickly averted her gaze and crouched down on the trunk to his left, hugging her knees to her chest. Legolas let a few minutes of silence pass – then he took pity on her.

"Did Pippin's tales not tire you enough?"

"What?" she said, her voice sounding distracted. "No. I mean, I am tired, but not from the story. But I wanted to … there is something I wanted to tell you - have been wanting to say for quite a while, actually, but I wasn't …" She sighed, taking one arm off her legs, and wearily rubbed her face. "Oh, this is ridiculous – I will just say it, and hope you won't get angry again, all right?"

He looked sideways at her, raising an eyebrow at this introduction, but she kept her gaze fixed on her knees.

"You … the other night you told me that there were things I would not … I would not want to know about you."

Legolas stiffened, feeling annoyance and resignation build up inside him. Could she not let this rest once and for all?

"But I don't think that's true." Anne slowly continued. "I cannot imagine anything you might say … anything I might find out - or know about you that could change the … well - the way I think of you."

He had not expected this. Again, he glanced at her, but she was still looking straight ahead. He could see – almost feel - the tension in her body, though; she was biting on her lower lip as if in concentration, and her hands were grasping her legs so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

"Whatever you did – or what you think you did – I don't think it … I don't know, I don't think it really matters. No! That came out wrong – Of course it matters, I understand that it must, but …" She sighed again, before continuing in a firmer voice.

"I think I have seen evil … and evil deeds … And you – you are not that. Not in the slightest. I knew … I think that was the one thing I was certain about… I realised it, even as we first met – however illogical that may sound … in hindsight …

And then I saw you with Pippin today, and … and the way he seems to feel about you. I know you have probably done your best to keep me from thinking this, but –" She finally looked up at him. "- But I do believe that you are a good person."

Legolas felt a strange stinging somewhere in his chest as he looked into her wide, dark eyes. Even in the moonlight he could see her cheeks reddening; she let her gaze drop away from him, apparently embarrassed by her own words - but then she spoke once more.

"And, well … I know you said that you have changed – like you said that even your name belongs to the past, and … and that you are not that person anymore, but …

I think, maybe that's not true either."

Legolas stared blindly ahead. He did not know how to respond to this, so he remained silent. He could not answer a question he was asking himself. Then again, hers had not really been a question, so perhaps it did not matter either way.

Anne cleared her throat before muttering: "That is… well, that is what I think."

She then stood abruptly and made to walk away.

"Maybe that only marks you as naïve," Legolas said softly to her retreating back. He watched her pause; then she turned around, and he was surprised to see that she was smiling, albeit a little wearily, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her eye.

"Maybe. But I suppose that is simply the way it is." For a moment she gazed at him thoughtfully, as if pondering something. In the end, though, she merely said "Good night," before turning and walking back to the fire.

Legolas had never been this glad to be about to part with someone he did not truly wish to leave behind.

**III III III**

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	21. The Difference it Makes

**:::**

**III III III**

When Anne woke up the next morning, it took her a couple of moments to remember why she felt so worried and glum. It came back to her, however, after her eyes had fallen upon Legolas, who was busy watering the horses. Today was her last day with him … her last day before Bree … her last day before she would have to face whatever was awaiting her there. For a while she just sat there, watching as Pippin was trying to get a fire started, without really seeing him.

Finally, the Hobbit turned around and, upon noticing that she was awake, said: "At last! I was wondering how long you were going to sleep, and whether we would have to throw you into the back of the waggon like a sack of turnips. Well, this way you can make yourself useful – I need some dry leaves, this fire will not burn decently."

"A good morning to you too," Anne muttered rather sourly, while getting to her feet with some effort.

Pippin threw her a wicker basket. "Here, you don't need to collect them inside your skirt – if you had one, that is."

"Bring some more water, while you are at it," Legolas called over to them.

"Yes, yes, happy to oblige," Anne said sullenly, but all the same she went to take the water bucket from the elf before he might be tempted to throw that at her as well.

"Oh, and if you can find any twigs or small branches that are not completely sodden, bring those too!" Pippin called after her, when she had already grabbed a bundle of clean clothes and was stalking off through the trees.

There was a slow-flowing stream nearby, but the bank was so steep, stony and overgrown with brambles that they had quickly given up on leading the horses down to the water, and instead decided to carry it up, using the buckets that Pippin had offered for the purpose.

Once she had washed up and changed into the fresh garments, Anne felt decidedly better. She left the filled bucket at the top of the bank, and went to collect the leaves and branches for the fire. When, about half an hour later, she walked back towards their camp, it suddenly hit her that they would probably reach the town that very evening, or even in the late afternoon. This meant that she would not spend another night in the company of the elf. An odd thought … the next time she woke up it would be in a strange place. Not that she actually had had time to get used to the places she had been at so far, but for some strange reason she felt like she was about to be ripped out of a home – or at least something close to it.

'This is ridiculous,' she said to herself. 'I have to stay somewhere! Surely, Bree is going to be a much closer thing to 'home' than anywhere I have been of late.'

Except for Carrockton maybe. Then there was, of course, her real home.

Anne wondered, not for the first time, what that place might be like, and whether she would ever return there. _Laketown_, she remembered Legolas had called it.

It happened within the fraction of a moment …

Suddenly the image was there, as if it had always been inside her head – hidden in some remote, secluded part of her brain, waiting for its prompt.

It was the rain-swept bank of a lake, and there were the remnants of an old landing stage, only just visible underneath the overgrown reed and half rotten-looking water lily pads.

A dark-haired man was standing in the shallow water with his back to her, a couple of feet away from the sandy shore.

"_They are still out there, you know_," his deep voice rang towards her like from the bottom of a deep well.

He did not turn around, but simply stood there, apparently staring out on the slate-grey lake. The man's arms hung limply at his sides; Anne could see that up to the elbows they were covered in mud, as if he had been digging in the ground with his bare hands.

Then, the image was gone as soon as it had appeared; for a moment, Anne looked about herself rather disorientated, feeling almost surprised to find herself surrounded by trees, and to be breathing in the relatively warm, if slightly heavy early-autumn-air - having half expected to feel the cool drizzle of rain on her face.

Anne stared down at the water she was carrying, wondering for a moment what on earth she was doing here.

**:::**

"About time!" Anne was greeted by Pippin when she arrived at the campsite. "We were beginning to wonder where you might have got to."

"Sorry," Anne mumbled, while handing Legolas the water, only half-noticing the odd look he was giving her.

It took them another half hour to get the fire burning, and almost another whole hour for it to become hot enough to cook anything on it. There were some leftovers from the night before as well as freshly baked tomatoes, and Pippin even managed to dig up some tea from among his belongings.

When they set off once more, it was already mid-morning, but as far as Anne was concerned they could have delayed a bit longer; she was in no hurry to reach their destination. For a while she brooded things over, sitting once more next to Pippin in the driving seat. At last she was brought out of her thoughts by the hobbit, who remeinded her that they still had to finish the story from last night. Anne, who was more than glad for the distraction, eagerly agreed, and soon she was once more being entranced by the account of Bilbo Baggins' extraordinary journey.

When, a couple of hours later, Pippin reached the end of his tale, Anne had actually managed to forget about their impending arrival in Bree and what may or may not await her there. It was several minutes after the hobbit (by then already sounding slightly hoarse) had finally finished telling about the outcome of the terrible battle of the five armies, and Bilbo's triumphant returning home, that Anne spoke again.

"I cannot believe how brave he was," she muttered. "So little … er, I mean… –" Clearing her throat, she glanced sideways at Pippin – "Well - smaller than, er, all the rest of them - and yet he just climbed out, knowing that _everyone_ – both those huge armies - were waiting out there, and he just walked right into the middle of their camp! He really was courageous, and … and so …"

"Pragmatic?" Pippin asked, grinning. "Of course he was, he was a Hobbit! Why climb over the hill if you can knock and ask your neighbour whether you may use his back-door?"

"Er …"

"Exactly! Bilbo realised that he was the only one who might have enough common sense to be able to prevent that unnecessary fight."

"Mind you - he _was_ up against a lot of stubbornness from all sides," Anne said, shaking her head. "And I must say – even King Thranduil and his elves seem a bit self-serving …"

"Ah, but you must not forget that he considered part of the treasure rightly his and his people's property," Pippin objected, while glancing at Legolas, who was riding several paces in front of them, as if worried how the elf might react to Anne's comment on his kinsmen. "Also, he _did_ rush to the aid of the people from Esgaroth, and he listened to Bilbo and agreed to try things his way. After all, in the end it was Thranduil Bilbo chose to defend when the battle began."

"Yes …" Anne said slowly. "But so many lives lost! How tragic it is that, in the end, they had to fight anyway… despite Bilbo's effort -"

"His effort was not in vain," Legolas said unexpectedly. "War and battle always entails death, but it could have been much worse. Among the elves Bilbo Baggins will always be remembered for his courage – as well as his cunningness, I daresay."

Pippin was suddenly grinning.

"Is it true that your father always had an inkling of what really was going on … even before he knew that it had been Bilbo rescuing the dwarves … Gandalf once mentioned something …"

The hobbit's words reminded Anne of something that Legolas had said the day before – something she had in fact been meaning to ask about, and which had not been cleared up yet.

"Right," she said quickly to Pippin. "What does his father have to do with all this?" She tried to stare holes into the elf's back, which did not appear to work – at least he did not turn around. "What did you mean when you said 'to my father's chagrin'?"

"Well, those _were_ after all _his_ cells, they escaped from, weren't they?" Pippin replied, sounding a bit bewildered. "Of course King Thranduil would mind that his prisoners disappeared from right under his nose, would he not?"

Anne stared at him, uncomprehending. "King … Thranduil… but, what does he have to do ... I thought you said that the father of Legolas had …" Then, the penny dropped at last - and with some impact indeed. Anne gasped.

"What! But … you… he is…" She looked from Legolas' impassive stature to Pippin's bemused expression, and back to the elf. "You're his _SON_?"

"Ah, so …" Pippin uncertainly glanced from Anne to Legolas. "I take it, you did not know that … er …" He trailed off, coughing slightly.

Legolas finally turned his head, throwing Anne a brief glance over his shoulder.

"Does it really matter?" he asked evenly, while turning back forward.

Anne, who had been staring at him slightly open-mouthed, blinked. Then she frowned.

"No …," she said slowly, still frowning. "It doesn't matter. The thing is," she then continued in a low voice, leaning in to the hobbit. "It never occurred to me that he might actually _be_ a lord of any kind …"

Pippin snorted and did his best to look suitably indignant on behalf of his friend – though he did seem a little amused nonetheless.

"Now, now," he spluttered. "I refuse to believe that Legolas would treat a lady with anything but deference, respect and kindness!"

"Er," said Anne, glancing at Legolas, who had not reacted, though she was certain he must have heard the exchange. She looked back at the hobbit, deciding that the damage was already done.

"Well, he –"

"We need to stop for a moment," said Legolas.

Pippin and Anne both glanced up at the elf, who had brought his horse to a halt. Pippin drew in the piebald, glancing about them with an air of unease.

"What is it now, then? Not more bush robbers, I hope."

"No," said Legolas. "There is, however, something we should attend to before we reach the town." So saying he dismounted, pulled something that appeared to be a large bundle of folded cloth out of his pack, and, motioning for Anne to come with him, stepped through the trees that bordered the road and then vanished into the underbrush.

Anne climbed off the waggon and followed him, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. This could hardly be good, she was sure of it.

They did not go very far. Anne nearly walked right into the elf when he suddenly stopped and turned around, glancing into the direction of the road, as if to make sure that they were out of sight, before looking down at her.

While trying to recover some personal space by backing away several steps, Anne groaned inwardly - fairly convinced that she was going to be read the riot act because of her comment from before. She found this most unfair, since Legolas could not even know what she had yet been about to say. (Indeed it had been nothing flattering, but that was irrelevant right now.)

The elf drew his eyebrows together ever so subtly, as if he had guessed her thoughts (More likely her expression spoke volumes once again) – but then he merely handed her the folded material that he had brought with him. Puzzled, Anne took it – it was quite a bit heavier than she had expected – and shook it slightly so it would unfold. She stared at the silvery green and wine-red fabric for several moments, before realising that it was one of her dresses – one of those she had deliberately left behind in the Eryn Lasgalen. Scooping up the length of the skirt so it would not drag over the ground, she looked up at the elf.

"Where on earth did this come from?" she asked him. "I thought, I left it at the cave."

"Yes, and that is where it comes from. I noticed you put all your dresses in that bag you left behind. I packed it shortly before we set out."

"You did, hmm," Anne muttered, thinking of the assortment of frilly undershifts and underwear that had also been in that bag. "And what do you want me to do with it now?"

"I want you to put it on, of course," said Legolas slowly, and a little over-articulated, once again managing to make her feel immensely stupid for even having asked a question, and that without so much as moving a single muscle in his face. "I shall be waiting for you over there -" He vaguely indicated a spot some odd thirty feet away from where they were standing right now.

"Why?" Anne asked quickly, before he could just walk off.

The elf slowly turned back around. "'Why'?," he echoed, his eyes slightly narrowed in mock thoughtfulness. I should think that, considering my previous experiences with you in that particular regard, you would want me as far away as possible."

Anne waved her hand impatiently. "You know perfectly well that is not what I meant. _Why _do you think it necessary for me to smarten up, all of a sudden? I will probably only ruin the garment while trying to climb on or off the waggon, and frankly I don't see what difference it makes whether … oh … unless …" She suddenly felt a grin stealing on her face. "Unless … could it be that you, er … actually want me to make a good first impression, for some …"

Anne trailed off, when he sighed and shook his head at her.

"Has it never occurred to you that you being in my company without a female chaperone may cause enough offence, as it is? We do not need to add oil to the fire by having you enter the village while clad in such a way." He indicated her clothes with his head. He then bent forward slightly, so they were on eye-level, his expression non-committal. When he spoke, his voice was, in fact, unusually pleasant. "Also I could not care less about whether you make a good first impression or not." With that he straightened up again, stepped around her and walked off into the direction of the road.

Anne glowered at his back for a moment, and then proceeded to try and change into the dress as quickly as she possibly could. This turned out to be an exceedingly challenging task; the fastenings of the dress consisted of a lacing as well as a number of tiny hooks, and both were located in the back of the raiment. Since Anne would have rather eaten the darn thing than to ask for help, it took her about fifteen minutes to get herself in a halfway presentable form. Once done, she folded the clothes she had just discarded and formed them into a bundle. Briefly she considered shoving them down the front of her dress for safekeeping – the thing was certainly roomy enough. Obviously her stature had changed a little bit during the demanding journey that lay behind her. However, having a pretty good idea of what Legolas' reaction would be if he found out that she had stuffed the front of her bodice with clothes, she opted to keep them in her hand, instead.

Hiking up the skirt of the dress as she went, and feeling utterly out of place, she stomped over to the elf, who had been waiting with his arms folded and his back to her. When he heard her approach, he looked over his shoulder at her, and then, apparently satisfied with what he saw, strode off towards the road.

Finding that her new attire was limiting her movement quite considerably, Anne followed at a more cautious pace, and in a significantly fouler mood than before.

**:::**

It was late afternoon when the small group saw the first signs of 'beginning civilisation'. The dirt track they had been following, smoothly joined a broader, and much tidier looking road, which ran almost straight west. Pippin had been entertaining Anne with stories and anecdotes of both himself and various other hobbits from his circle of friends and acquaintances - which seemed to be rather wide. The last couple of hours had actually passed in a quite enjoyable way, although it became quite a bit cooler as the afternoon progressed, until Anne had to ask Pippin to stop the waggon so she could go and fetch her cloak.

Suddenly, the hobbit interrupted his account of one of the more embarrassing events concerning his friend Merry, and pointed to the right; following his outstretched hand with her eyes, Anne saw lights twinkling some distance away.

At once she felt nerves beginning to flit around in her stomach. It seemed like they were almost there. Squinting, Anne could make out a number of houses that were nestled against the dark outline of a hill, but since dusk was already closing in, she could not see much else.

"There lies _Staddle_, where most of the hobbits of Bree live," said Legolas.

Though his voice had been soft, Anne started, not having noticed that he had reined back his horse and was riding alongside them.

She peered at the lights in the distance once more. "So we are not there yet?" she asked, feeling vaguely embarrassed by the clear relief in her voice.

"No, but it is not much further now." The elf twisted around on his stallion's back in order to look at Pippin. "You are coming with us, I assume?"

"Of course I am. In Bree it should be easier to find someone who might sell me a horse. I'm sure Rudigar Hayward – a friend of mine, who is one of the servants at the inn - might be able to help, too. Some of this cargo is meant for him, you must know. Also, I admit, it will be nice to see the dear old _Pony_ again."

"I might have known," muttered the elf.

Anne found it odd that Pippin already seemed to have a beast in mind, but the certain knowledge that they had almost reached the end of their journey kept her from dwelling on the matter. She glumly stared ahead into the now quickly falling dusk, and wondered what would happen to her once they had arrived. Would Legolas simply drop her off at the first chance possible and wave her goodbye? She involuntarily snorted at the mental image, but quickly became sober again, upon realising that this was in fact not too unlikely a possibility. (Apart from the waving, that is.)

On the other hand - he had come here to meet with someone, she now recalled. At the very least it would take some time for him to find whoever it was he was looking for, and then, surely, there would be arrangements that had to be made, things he had to see to before he could set out again for what certainly would be another long journey.

'Why am I even worrying about this,' she darkly asked herself.

No matter whether he was planning to stay for an hour or a week – the outcome would be the same, and she really had better get used to the idea that he was about to vanish from her life and instead get accommodated to her new situation. Always assuming that there even would be some place where people were willing to take her in.

Anne cringed a little at that thought. It truly was humiliating to be so dependant on other's goodwill and mercy. Perhaps, if she could find work as soon as possible, she wouldn't feel completely useless, and this whole thing might get a lot easier to cope with. She really hoped it would. Somehow it had been different with being in the company of the elf. Of course, no doubt, she had been rather useless to him as well, and yet … Maybe it was because he had never really mentioned it, or giving the impression that he was actually doing her a huge favour, but for whatever reason - the embarrassing feeling of not being of much worth nor help had never been such an overwhelming one as she felt now – and which went along with the prospect of living among the Bree-landers.

Anne groaned (causing Pippin to throw her a worried side-glance). This would not do at all. She must NOT start comparing her life so far with the one she was about to lead, under no circumstances! Or rather, if she _did_ compare them, it had to be to the latter one's benefit. She needed to be positive about this.

Anne was so immersed in her thoughts that she only barely noticed that Pippin started chattering away at both her and the elf again. When, about an hour later, he fell silent she did not realise it until he slightly nudged her.

"Hmm … I am sorry – what?"

He pointed ahead. "I said, that is the South-gate of Bree."

Already?

Not feeling prepared at all, Anne looked about her. The road they were on had been running parallel to a deep ditch for the last few minutes or so, and beyond the ditch there was a high and thick hedge, now blocking the dark silhouette of the hill from view. Straight ahead of them, however, the hedge curved, seemingly intersecting the road. After a moment, Anne saw that the hedge was indeed broken by a gate, and the road led over the ditch by a causeway and into the village itself.

The gate was shut and, whereas not as high as the hedge, looked thoroughly uninviting – though, perhaps, she was not the most unbiased person to make this judgment. Just beyond the gate she could see a small lodge, presumably for a gatekeeper – but its door was closed as well. For a brief moment, Anne dared to believe that they might actually be forced to spend the night outside the village after all – but then the waggon had come to a halt with a creaking noise; Pippin climbed off the driving-seat and walked up to the gate. Looking sideways, Anne saw that Legolas, who had brought Dûrfang to a stop next to the waggon, had drawn his hood over his head. Feeling somehow ill at ease, she turned her attention back to the hobbit, who had now reached the gate and stopped in front of it.

"Good evening!" he shouted. "Open up, if you please. We are three travellers from the east, and we are weather-beaten, weary and thirsty from many days on the road. Come now, I know you must have heard us coming!"

The door of the lodge opened, the flickering light of open fire streaming out, and an old man with a rather stern expression appeared, carrying a lantern and leaning on a walking stick as he approached the gate.

"Good evening," he replied, while peering down at the hobbit. "You journeyed from the east, you say? I expect you are making for the inn. Are you seeking refuge here?" During those last words, his eyes travelled over Anne, who was still sitting in the driving-seat and wrapped in her cloak.

"No, just on my way back from visiting friends," said Pippin lightly. "As for my companions, they have business here in the village, and you will have to ask them about it yourself - if they are willing to share their private matters with you – which I doubt."

"Hmm, is that so," muttered the gatekeeper, eying both Anne and Legolas, who was sitting on his horse like a statue, with newly awakened interest.

Pippin, obviously realising his mistake, went on in a ringing voice. "Listen, good man, will you please let us in already. We desire nothing but a warm bed, something descent to drink and a proper meal, though not necessarily in that order. Since when has it become a custom for the folk of Bree to deny innocent travellers with nothing but their own fair and honest dealings entry to their once so hospitable town, I wonder?"

"Since few travellers from the east look innocent anymore," the man growled. "And if your dealings are as honest and fair as you say, one should expect you to complete them before nightfall, I might add - but that's just old Tod's opinion, of course."

Nevertheless he opened the gate and let them through, albeit grumbling. Also, when Pippin had climbed back onto the waggon and they were slowly rolling past the old gatekeeper's lodge, Anne noticed that he was still scrutinising her in a rather suspicious way.

Once they had left the gate and the lodge behind, the road was ascending slightly, with the hillside to their right and what seemed to be little fields or vegetable gardens to their left. After a while the lights of the first houses appeared in some distance; they seemed to be blinking at them through the dark, Anne thought, as every now and then the trunks of the odd tree and the wild, low growing brambles, which bordered the road, would obscure her view. When they came round the foot of the hill, they could see many brightly-lit windows, shining yellow and warm.

Soon they were passing lamp-lit houses as the waggon rolled through what appeared to be the main street of the village; all of them were made of stone, and many were multi-storeyed. As it was still early evening, there was still a fair number of people about, throwing curious glances at all three of them, while passing them by. A small group of young men, who were singing merrily, was ambling along in their wake. Above the general hum of mirth and conversation, Anne could only understand snatches of their song, but it seemed to be rather obscene, which made her suspect that they might have already 'had a few' – despite the fact that they were going in the same direction, and the men therefore probably on their way _to_ and not _from_ the inn.

Anne stared about herself, slightly dazzled by the bright light of lanterns and windows, (though the latter were often half obscured by thick curtains) and she felt herself being gripped by both faint anxiety as well as something close to excitement.

They were just passing by another house with an open door, from which a broad rectangle of light fell on the low steps that led to the doorway and onto the pavement; a woman was leaning in the doorframe, talking animatedly to another one, who was standing at the bottom of the steps, and was clutching bulging sacs in both hands, as if she had been on her way home or back to work from some errand.

A little further down the road, three girls between the age of fourteen and eighteen were busy emptying huge tubs and pots full of what seemed to be washing or cooking water, chattering away happily as they worked.

"Aaah, here we are at last!" Pippin suddenly said in a very satisfied voice.

They had halted outside a double-winged three-storey building, and now the hobbit carefully steered the waggon towards an archway that seemed to lead into a courtyard. Just before they passed through under it, Anne caught a glimpse of a wooden sign that hung from the arch: it showed a white, rather fat pony in mid-rear. At least now she knew which 'dear old _Pony_' Pippin had been talking about before.

Two young women, who looked like they might be serving wenches, were sat on the steps in front of the large doorway to the inn, underneath the arch. Upon seeing them, a sudden thought struck Anne. Was it possible that Legolas intended for her to stay at the inn? Not just the night, but indefinitely? Was she perhaps the reason, why he had wanted to come here – to ask whether they needed a new maid? Who knew, he might even get something out of it, she thought with a streak of gallows humour – though she quickly berated herself for this idea.

Nevertheless feeling glum once more, she surreptitiously looked at the two women. They were holding steaming cups, from which they were sipping every now and then, and watching the oncoming small company with mild interest. One of them turned around and bellowed someone's name. Within seconds, a young, slightly pimply-faced fellow appeared in the doorway; he grinned, bowing, and asked whether he might be of assistance. His eyes flickered from the hobbit to the elf, apparently unsure of whom to address. This time, it was Legolas who answered, while sliding the hood of his head and dismounting smoothly.

"We need accommodation for the night – three rooms if possible - and the horses need to be stabled and looked after."

The boy gazed at the elf in wonder - but that was nothing compared to the reaction of the serving maids. They had become very still for a moment – only then to start giggling in a fairly hysteric sort of way, while repeatedly nudging each other. Anne, wondering what on earth they might have been drinking from those cups, gawped at them for a second before turning to Pippin, in order to quietly share this thought. The hobbit, however, was staring at the girls in such astonishment that he did not notice it.

Meanwhile the male servant seemed to have recovered from his awe, and hastened to assure them that he would see to the horses' well-being himself, before beckoning them inside with another bow. Legolas had the grace to wait while Pippin and Anne climbed off the waggon, then he led the way up the broad steps and through the doorway. The serving wenches were still tittering, but politely made room for them; both girls threw the elf glowing looks while curtseying as he passed them. Anne, who felt soemwhat annoyed by this, scowled at them before following the other two into the inn's crowded and rather noisy main parlour.

What in the world did they see in him, anyway? He hadn't smiled, nor indeed even _looked_ at them twice. This just went to prove how easily one could be mislead by appearances. They were probably labouring under the misapprehension that he was some sort of high-bred, sophisticated lord, whose lack of courtesy was merely a testament to his noble descent. Anne then remembered that, apparently, he actually _was_ some sort of high-bred lord of noble descent, if Pippin was to be believed. This in turn led to her wondering whether perhaps all elvish princes behaved like this.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a very red-faced, dark-haired man with a strongly receding hairline came to greet and welcome them to '_The Prancing Pony_', before introducing himself as '_Theobald Butterbur at your service_'.

"You took over from old Barliman then, I take it," Pippin said at this point, eying the man with curiosity.

"Yes, he is my uncle, sir. He is off to visit our family in Archet at the moment, though. You did not come to meet him, I hope?"

Pippin assured him that this was not the case, before renewing their request for rooms. It turned out that there were three rooms available, and Butterbur offered to show them upstairs right away.

"I will arrange for your supper to be served in a private parlour, if you wish," he said, while glancing at Anne and slightly bowing in her direction. "I'm afraid it's quite hectic down here tonight. Is there something else you require?"

"Yes, actually," said Legolas.

He had pulled his hood back up right after entering the inn, Anne had noticed, and had remained silent until now. Presumably he did not relish being stared at pointed at, she thought with an inward grin.

"I am looking for someone, who, I was told, is residing in this town," the elf continued. "The name is Maeren Blackthorn."

"Maeren – yes, of course! You are in luck, my lord. See, over there at the corner table, where most of the little folk is sitting?"

Anne, as well as the other two, turned to look where Butterbur was pointing. In one of the corners near a large fireplace, there were indeed five or six hobbits sitting together at one table. Among them sat a tall, dark and proud-looking young man. Although he was laughing affably at something one of the hobbits appeared to have said just now, Anne's immediate thought was that he looked terribly haughty and arrogant, the way he was slouching there, winding his long tress of ebony hair around his fingers.

"On my conscience, it _is_ a strange chance that she is here tonight," said Theobald Butterbur. "I haven't seen her in almost two weeks."

Anne, who had been turning back towards the innkeeper, did a double take, staring at the lanky figure between the hobbits once more.

_She_?

She then glanced at Legolas; judging from his narrowed eyes and faintly furrowed brow, he, too, had not been prepared for this particular piece of information. However, he managed to quickly smoothen his features before thanking the landlord.

"Ah, pleasure's all here, my lord. However, perhaps I should mention, …" The landlord suddenly looked sheepish. "Well, if you will pardon my saying so … whatever business you may have with Maeren - you would be well advised not to expect her to be too… er … _forthcoming_ … Not that it would be any of my business, sir," he added hurriedly after glancing up at the elf's face. "Ah, well – if you would excuse me for now - there are things I must see to …"

"Now, Legolas," said Pippin with a grin, once the innkeeper had scuttled off. "It would indeed seem that you _are_ in luck."

The elf frowned at him. "How so?"

"Well, I do not know this Maeren-person, I must admit. I _do_, however, know at least two of the lads who are sitting there with her."

Anne thought she saw the elf's chest move in a very subtle sigh – then he indicated for Pippin to lead the way towards the corner where the group was sitting. Unbidden but intrigued - and for now just glad that she had not yet been introduced to Mr. Butterbur as a possible future employee, Anne followed them.

**III III III**

**:::**

* * *

**Author Note: **Once again – I am so sorry for the really long wait this time (I actually had to reread a lot, so as not to contradict myself on things I wrote in earlier chapters. ô.Ô)

Also I would like to say a HUGE thanks to those who wrote messages or reviews. You guys are awesome :)

Since you are probably getting tired of me apologising – on a different note: Wow! We have reached Bree! Can't believe it. Only took me about thirteen chapters of increasing length…

I actually have no idea if it was mentioned at any point whether Butterbur has family or not. Still, I think it is safe to assume that he at least had brothers or sisters, hence my choice of re-manning the _Pony_. There also was no mention about his age to be found, therefore I decided that he would still be alive, forty years after the happenings from LOTR. Killing off Barliman Butterbur was just something I… couldn't do. (I can be mean, but not THAT mean)

Right now I can't think of anything else, but – as you should know by now – any questions, suggestions, or maybe leftover discrepancies you might have spotted - let's have it! ;-)


	22. Maeren Blackthorn

**AN**: First I would like to (as always) apologise deeply to everyone, who has been following this story, and waiting for another chapter, for the – once again – abysmally long waiting time. At the same time I want to say THANK YOU! To everyone who takes the time to read this, and especially to those who go to the trouble of writing me reviews, emails and PMs, offering so much helpful advice, support and encouragement! Please believe me, you can NEVER bother or annoy me, I still get excited by every little piece of critic, and I love to read what you think about the story and the characters.

That being said, I would like to clarify that the ensuing chapter is in fact only the first half of what was planned to be one chapter. During the usual 'writing/editing/changing stuff'-phase, the original extent of the text had … well, let's say it reached worrying dimensions. In the end I decided to go against my principles and divide the already existing chapter into two "normal length"-parts, giving my beta-reader some time to breathe, and You a little less waiting time. Therefore the 23rd chapter is already completely written; it's now being edited, and of course I'll upload it, once I get it back.

Till then - I wish everyone a happy Halloween!

* * *

**:::**

**III III III**

As the three of them made their way through the crowd, Anne got a clearer look at Maeren Blackthorn. The resemblance to a young man seemed much less pronounced, now that she knew that it wasn't one. The tall woman's features were less sharp than Anne had first thought, her chin and throat were white and smooth, and there was a definite shapeliness to her figure, even underneath the trousers, waistcoat and long-sleeved shirt - if you knew what you had to look for.

No sooner were Pippin, Legolas and Anne within about ten feet of the table than there was already a great uproar of joyful greetings from among the hobbit group, as several of them seemed to recognise Pippin. In a matter of seconds they had gone from shouts of astonishment and delight to exchanging news, asking about this friend and that family member, and pretty nearly all and sundry. During this - seemingly mandatory - exchange of pleasantries, Legolas waited patiently for them to finish. Anne had known for a while that he was intending to meet with someone in Bree, but with everything else that had been going on she had never wondered why, or for what purpose.

Maeren Blackthorn, comfortably leaning back in her chair, watched the proceedings with a mildly amused expression, and a soft smile on her lips. Her dark gaze had brushed Anne for a moment before returning to the hobbits. Legolas she had barely given a second glance, which, given the reverence people usually regarded him with, Anne could not help but find slightly odd. She surreptitiously looked at the dark-haired woman. Maeren Blackthorn seemed to be strongly built, and Anne did not doubt that, would they both stand, the other woman would be towering over her.

At last the hobbits greeting ritual appeared to be over, and Pippin proceeded to introduce his companions. The hobbits, apparently not having noticed the elf until now, stared at him in some amazement. Anne they gave curious glances, while standing, bowing and muttering greetings.

Maeren Blackthorn, however, merely nodded without getting up, and said nothing. Again, Anne had the impression that she was ignoring the elf completely - or was at least less than impressed with him being there.

Legolas now stepped forward and bowed. "Well met, Lady Maeren," he said, his tone of such explicit, unobtrusive politeness, that Anne actually involuntarily turned, in order to make sure whether it was indeed him speaking.

"Forgive me for disturbing you and your friends," the elf now continued. "There is, however, a matter of great importance to me, that I would like to speak to you about."

'Good gracious, he really must need her badly for something!' Anne thought incredulously. She did not fail to notice, however, that the one person the elf's uncharacteristically polite words had actually been directed at looked quite unimpressed by it all. Folding her arms, Maeren Blackthorn leaned further back into her chair, and her face was forbidding when she regarded Legolas out of narrowed eyes.

"Indeed," she said slowly. "And what might that be?"

It was clear from the look on his face that Legolas was less than thrilled by the idea to discuss this matter openly, but he apparently came to the same conclusion Anne had reached – that he had little choice. "I was told by, as I believe, a common friend, that you speak and understand the tongue of Rhun rather well."

Maeren Blackthorn straightened up a little. "'A common friend', you say?" she asked, completely disregarding the implied question.

Legolas inclined his head slightly. "That was my impression, yes. Lord Glorfindel of Imladris was it who told me about you."

The woman's eyes narrowed, if possible, even further. "You have a false impression, then," she said rather coolly. "Also you were misinformed, I am afraid. I haven't been to Rhun, or used _Taiq_ in many years, and to say that I speak it 'rather well' would be quite an overstatement. To rent a room and ask for date-tea is about all I am capable of."

Before the elf had a chance to react to this no doubt rather unfortunate piece of news, one of the hobbits, a young fellow with light-brown, curly hair and particularly red cheeks, said:

"Now you are just being thick-headed, Maeren, and this is a friend of dear old Pippin, you are lying to, mind you. I happen to know for a fact that you are planning to leave for _Hathi_ the day after tomorrow."

Maeren looked like she could have happily throttled her friend. She quickly hid her annoyance however and, smiling haughtily, turned her gaze back towards the elf.

"However things may be," she drawled. "I do not have the time to translate some unreadable nonsense, or to play the interrogator with some captive of yours."

"In truth I need neither of those," said Legolas; his tone was still pleasant and calm, but there was a hardness in his eyes that told Anne he was beginning to detest the situation he had landed himself in. "Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private," he now quietly suggested.

"Whatever it is you have to say, you can do it right here or not at all," Maeren interrupted him, her tone and whole demeanour screaming indifference.

The elf's eyes narrowed, and there was a distinguishable edge to his voice when he spoke again. "I require someone who can take me over the border of Rhun and into _Hathi_. It is said that, for anyone foreign to that area this has become near impossible. You, however, have - as I believe - family in Rhun, and are considered a kinswoman there. I shall pay well for your services, and since, apparently, you are planning on journeying there either way, you have only to gain by accepting my offer, would you not agree?"

Maeren regarded him for a few seconds, her lips pursed, and her face guarded, while playing with the empty glass in her hand. "What sort of business brings an elf-lord to Rhun, I wonder?" she finally asked, letting go of the glass and folding her arms again.

"None that should be any of your concern," Legolas replied, his face now as guarded as Maeren Blackthorn's had been just a moment ago.

The woman furrowed her brow. "I should think that it is indeed of my concern if I put myself in danger because of some ludicrous scheme of the elves. You may not understand this, but times have changed even around here."

"I _did_ notice that the Bree-landers seem to greet strangers with much less kindness than they used to," Pippin threw in from his place amidst the other hobbits, where he seemed to feel quite at home, puffing away happily on his pipe.

"And quite rightly so," replied Maeren, inclining her head towards Pippin. "Forgive me if my words seem harsh," she continued, turning back to Legolas and smiling coldly (and not looking the least bit sorry for her words). "But an elf-lord, a hobbit and ... a young lady - who on top of everything appears to travel completely unaccompanied – arriving together in the dead of night … in times when even the most harmless and common looking traveller will be regarded warily and with vigilance …" She shook her head, before looking back at the elf, her eyes glistening darkly, as she continued:

"I know that you people like to keep your noses out of everyone else's business and regard the world's mundane problems as none of your concern, but even you must have realised what is happening."

Anne suddenly noticed that Legolas had gone very still; she almost thought she could feel the air crackling around him. Feeling somehow and inexplicably intimidated by his mere presence next to her, she did not dare turn her head to see his reaction. Out of the corner of her eye she could see nothing but his upper body; she saw his chest seemingly stand still for a moment underneath the fabric of his tunic, before it rose in an inaudible sigh.

"There are certainly things I cannot possibly understand," he said calmly. "But also I may have knowledge of happenings and evil, which you in turn know nothing about – and they are part of the reason for my journey."

"Indeed." Maeren looked thoughtful. "Well, I'm sure you have your own noble motives, but that does not change anything. However, let's say - just theoretically - I were to agree to come with you - what would I have to anticipate? When an elf-lord as high and mighty as you appear to be has to ask simple people like me for assistance, it does not take a genius to realise that indeed a lot must be amiss. Who can assure me that I will not be drawn into that business myself?"

For a second Anne thought she saw a cynic smile flit over the face of Legolas – but then he slightly moved his head, and the impression was gone.

"You have my word," was all he said.

Maeren raised an eyebrow. "'Your word', you say?" she said, with a very slight sneer in her voice. "It's as simple as that, is it?"

The elf kept his face straight. "As simple as that, yes."

Maeren considered him for a moment, her brow furrowed. Finally she said: "I shall think about this before I make any decision. Tonight I came here to enjoy an evening among friends – and that is exactly what I intend to do now." With that she leaned back again, and it could not have been clearer that, as far as Maeren was concerned, the conversation was finished for now.

Anne shot Legolas a curious glance in order to see his reaction to this point-blank dismissal. For a moment she was sure that his unusual abundance of patience had to be exhausted at last - but then, with a wry smile on his face and a slight inclination of his head, he merely said:

"I understand."

And that was it. He already made to turn around, when Maeren Blackthorn addressed him once more.

"There is one more thing I would like to know …"

Anne, who had already turned halfway around as well, curiously looked back at Maeren – and found that the other woman's stare was directed at her, a strange smile playing on her lips.

"What is the … young lady's part in this play?"

Legolas' face was blank. "None," he simply said.

Maeren raised an eyebrow. "So why is she travelling with you?"

Anne could not help but glance at the elf. She thought she saw him hesitate for the tiniest of moments before he said:

"She is not. If that is indeed all that is bothering you – good evening."

He bowed once more and nodded in the direction of Pippin and the other hobbits, before he finally turned and strode away through he crowd. Feeling slightly lost, Anne waved Pippin good night, and, not knowing what else to do, followed the elf. When they reached the entrance to a hallway at the far end of which a staircase led to the upper storeys, Anne glanced back over her shoulder; she was half expecting to find Maeren Blackthorn watching them leave, but the dark-haired woman was already deep in conversation with a hobbit sitting next to Pippin.

As they began ascending the rather steep stairs, Anne considered asking Legolas when he was planning on speaking to the landlord about her staying in Bree. She suspected that Butterbur, being the owner of the inn, would probably be their reference person in this respect, so to speak. But the silence between them stretched … and then stretched some more. At last Anne discarded the idea of trying to just yet discuss her future with the – by now no doubt rather ill humoured elf. They had now reached the third landing, and the babbel of voices from the main parlour could be heard only as a muffled sort of hum. Anne suddenly became aware of how tired she was. It had been a long day, no matter how one looked at it, and although she was not particularly eager for the morning (and whatever it would bring) to come, Anne was looking forward to sleeping in a fluffy bed with actual pillows and (hopefully) clean sheets. Blankly staring at the elf's back as she walked behind him along a dimly-lit corridor, she vaguely wondered how it was that Legolas seemed to know exactly where he was going, or when and how on earth Butterbur had managed to slip him the keys for their rooms without her noticing.

However, no sooner had she finished that thought than the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard on the stairs behind them.

Turning, Anne saw one of the maidservants from earlier appear on the landing; the girl paused for a moment and then hurriedly approached them, tucking several black curls behind her ear as she went.

To Anne's immense relief she was not giggling anymore, albeit she _was_ rather red in the face, and also seemingly still trying to catch her breath. Somehow, Anne doubted that either of those things had much to do with climbing the stairs, though. The effect, however, was not an unpleasant one at all. Even in Anne's eyes the girls red cheeks looked very nice with her white skin and black hair. She was a bit shorter than Anne, but had (as the latter grudgingly thought) much better proportions. Though petite and slender, she _did_ fill her dress in all the right places. Involuntarily Anne did a quick comparison to herself, and could not help but feel terribly unfeminine.

The maidservant now stopped in front of them, curtseying to Legolas and even gracing Anne with a small bob.

"I have your room keys, my lord," she said, still sounding slightly out of breath. "And Master Butterbur said to tell you that he will have your luggage brought up right away. Oh, and should you need anything at all – Rosalin is my name, at your service!"

Legolas merely inclined his head to signify that he had understood - though he might just as well have roguishly winked at the girl, for the way she blushed and hurriedly dropped her gaze to the floor. As they followed her the last couple of steps, Anne wondered if the servant's behaviour was not perhaps a completely normal reaction to the elf's attraction, or … allure, or whatever it was he seemed to possess, and whether she herself might not – at some point - have been acting in a very similar manner towards him, without even noticing it.

The thought was quite disturbing to say the least.

Rosalin showed them to their rooms, which were small but cosy, each furnished with a comfortable looking bed and a low chair, a chest of drawers and a soft, thick woven carpet on the floor, as well as heavy curtains in front of the windows. The servant then asked (not without furiously blushing once more) whether either of them would like to take a bath this evening. Legolas declined, curtly stating that he would like to speak with the landlord as soon as possible. Anne, who had an inkling that she might have a very good idea what this could be about, decided that she was probably going to know soon enough about the outcome of it anyway, and instead enthusiastically accepted Rosalin's offer.

A hot bath! Possibly including decent towels, probably soap, and definitely something else she had missed for a long time: privacy! No matter how long the day had been, she couldn't possibly be tired enough to spurn this opportunity.

Rosalin, while looking a little bemused at Anne's obvious excitement, politely excused herself with another bow, and then - after throwing the seemingly oblivious elf a last glowing look - bustled off to arrange for Anne's bath to be prepared, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway.

Legolas, who seemed terribly absentminded, wished Anne a muttered 'good night', and had already turned towards his door - when Anne heard herself calling him back.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, his expression not so much questioning but rather a bit resigned. It suddenly struck Anne how he looked almost as tired as she felt.

"Er …" Not for the first time Anne found herself struggling for words in his presence, which angered her, especially since she had thought herself to be past this. Honestly, this was frustrating. Her social skills could only improve from now on; that at least was something worth looking forward to. But none the less …

"Thank you for … this … well, everything," she finally muttered, not quite looking him in the eyes.

All right, not so eloquently worded, perhaps, but after all, it was the intention, that counted. Anne knew she had thanked him before, but now that their journey together was over, she felt that it needed to be said again, somehow. She was probably about to be snubbed by him anyhow, but at least she had this off her conscience.

For a few seconds the elf did not react at all, but merely gazed at her. Then he turned fully around so he was facing her again, lightly leaned against her doorframe, and tilted his head slightly.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?" he asked placidly.

Anne stared at him in complete bewilderment. She had not the slightest idea what he was talking about. Apart from the fact that she _had_ just told him something, there was something stern about the way the elf regarded her, which only added to her confusion. Anne racked her brain for something she had said or done recently that might warrant such a question, or would call for an explanation, a confession, or even an apology – but unless he was able to read thoughts (which, secretly, she would not put past him), she could not fathom what on earth he was referring to.

She slowly shook her head, still staring at him.

"I … don't know what you mean."

He scrutinised her face for a moment, and Anne thought she saw his brows contract ever so slightly - but then his features relaxed and he gave her a tiny nod. "I see."

For a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something else; he blinked, then pressed his lips together before opening them again, a pensive look on his face.

"Enjoy your bath," he at last said softly. He then finally pushed away from the wall and disappeared into his own room. Anne was left standing alone in the dark hallway, feeling, for some reason, like someone who had just missed their cue.

**:::**

Anne did not sleep well that night. This was in fact not due to her being nervous about what would happen to her the next day (although she indeed was), but rather - as ridiculous as that might sound - because the bed was simply too comfortable. At least she assumed that it was supposed to be comfortable. All night she was unpleasantly aware of her body sinking into the all too soft mattress in an awkward way, while at the same time she felt pointy things poking into her back, hip or shoulder. If one slept outside, one could at least remove stones or other disruptive elements from underneath the 'bed'.

Thus when, in the very early hours, Anne woke up for the umpteenth time, she decided to call it a night. Telling herself that she would surely get used to this – albeit obviously not right now – she got up and, shivering slightly, padded across the cold floorboards towards the corner where the washbowl was placed on a low drawer. The water was of course freezing cold, and since she could barely see anything in the semi-darkness anyway, Anne contented herself with a rather quick wash. After all, she had bathed and washed thoroughly the night before (incidentally something that certainly did NOT require any getting used to on her part). She then turned to her bags, which the slightly pimply youth had carried upstairs for her the night before, and rifled through the contents, in the vain hope of finding anything suitable to wear.

Anne soon realised that there was nothing among her things that would be deemed 'appropriate' by the Bree-landers. Perhaps Legolas had packed a few more of her dresses, but even if he had, they were obviously with his luggage. Since Anne knew where his room was, she could of course simply go and ask him, but somehow she could not bring herself to do that. It was odd, but, being suddenly separated from each other by walls and doors made an early morning call, like this would have been, feel much more … intimate.

Instead she opted to wear the dress from the day before – hoping that nobody would notice. Once she was dressed she went over to the low window and drew back the heavy, dark-brown curtains. The bolts weren't exactly well-oiled, but, after some fumbling and muttered swearing on Anne's side (involving a less than ladylike version of the question when on earth had been the last time someone had opened these things), the aged iron yielded, and Anne pushed back the shutters.

The narrow street outside, which had been so busy and noisy the night before, now lay quiet and mostly deserted in the first, opaque light of dawn. A faint mist hung in the cold air; Anne took a few deep breaths and could smell the earthy, and slightly sharp scent of rotting leaves.

A few of the town's inhabitants were already up and going about their business; a young servant was sweeping the broad steps leading to the entrance of one of the larger houses facing the inn, and two women, who were wearing aprons over their long skirts and carrying baskets, were walking down the street at a brisk pace, while chatting merrily. Soon, they were right underneath Anne's window, and she could hear threads of their conversation.

"… with the miller yesterday –"

"Yes, yes, she was quite right to complain, if you ask me …"

"And I heard he was rather insolent about it too …"

"The _nerve_ of him …"

Despite herself, Anne listened raptly, captured by that certain kind of fascination often held by things that are not meant for the eavesdropper's ears. She was suddenly overcome by the odd desire to be down there, and – while she felt a little ashamed to admit it even to herself – to know exactly what the women were talking about … maybe to even be happily gossiping with them.

Suddenly Anne felt stifled by the gloomy confinement of her room, and she abruptly decided to go and explore the town a little bit. It would be nice not to be under the gaze of watchful eyes, for a change, she thought. Thinking vaguely of trying to find the washing stoop, she began to rummage in her bags again, this time in search for smelly clothes. As she poked around in the very bottom of her bag, her fingers suddenly touched something small, cold, and pointy. Anne's hand froze – but then she remembered the leaf-shaped pendant Liecia had returned to her along with her other things, so many weeks ago. She pulled it out on its chain and stared at it for a moment. It was strange, she thought, that she felt absolutely no emotional connection to it, since the pendant obviously must have been important enough to take it with her.

As Anne considered the exquisite little craftsmanship, she was suddenly reminded of the pretty maidservant Rosalin, who had also worn a necklace – although it had looked nothing like this one. Then, not being entirely sure about what prompted her to do this, Anne opened the delicate clasp of the chain and but it around her neck. It was hers to wear after all, she thought defiantly, as she straightened up, gathering up her clothes. Had she still been travelling, the elf probably would have made some scornful (and unnecessary) comment, but since – as of today – Anne was going to live here, she could just as well try and make a good impression. There was no basket for clothes in her room, therefore Anne bundled together her washing in her arms, after she had straightened her hair as best as she could. She then wrapped herself in her cloak and, as an afterthought, tucked the leaf-pendant down the front of her dress, before she tiptoed out of her room and onto the quiet landing.

* * *

**III III III**

**:::****  
**


	23. In for a Penny

**III III III**

**:::**

It appeared that most of the inn's guests had not risen yet, but Anne could still hear the murmur of voices from somewhere downstairs, and then the distant sound of a door being thrown shut. A sole candle that had nearly burnt down flickered in its bracket, emitting a low, erratic, hissing noise. Anne had already been shown were the latrines were by Rosalin the night before - for what she was now rather grateful.

As she crossed the courtyard, a small door, which Anne had assumed led to the kitchens, was pushed open. Bustling out came a rather young looking hobbit, who was carrying bucket full of what appeared to be vegetable scraps and eggshells. He grinned at Anne and bowed to her, but looked somewhat bemused when she asked him where she might be able to get a basket for her clothes. Anne then was told that, naturally, if she had washing to do, clothes to be mended, or generally anything that needed taking care of, she simply was to hand it to one of the servants.

Anne thanked him, and hurriedly escaped through the archway and onto the main street, before the hobbit could offer to take the clothes from her there and then. They were mostly underwear in varying stages of shabbiness, and the last thing she needed was for the entire inn – and thus, if her assessment proved to be correct, soon the entire town – to know what she tended to wear underneath.

Deciding that there was nothing to be done right now, but that she would have to think of something later, Anne hurried in and then upstairs to take her clothes back to her room for the time being. Once back outside, she began to wander up the street, taking the direction they had come from the night before, vaguely thinking of having a look around the little gardens and fields south of the town. She soon realised, however, that the way was quite a bit longer than she had thought. Also she quickly became a bit tired of the stares and odd looks she was given by the occasional Bree-lander passing her by, and therefore she turned around after little more than half an hour. Shivering, and drawing together her cloak against the morning chill, Anne slowly made her way back towards the inn, staring left and right at the old brick houses, archways, and the small yards and little gardens as she went. She had the strange sensation of feeling completely out of place and yet oddly at home at the same time. When she reached the inn, Anne spontaneously decided to make a detour to the stables and visit Dûrfang and Peg; she bent her steps towards the courtyard, past the entrance underneath the archway, at the back of which the long, low building housing the guest's horses and ponies was located.

Anne pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped into the comparative warmth and the twilight of the barn. It smelled of hay and animals, and there was even a sweet, slightly sour note in the air, which Anne identified as the scent of overripe apples. Peering through the gloom, she could just make out the familiar, tall outline of Dûrfang at the very end of the long row of stalls, next to a shaggy, grey pony. When Dûrfang noticed Anne walking towards him, he made a noise that sounded like hr-hr-hr-hrm, and which he usually made when Legolas approached him.

The dark-brown horse even turned his head in order to snort into her face by way of greeting. Peg was still fast asleep next door, with his dark and white backside turned at them.

"Sorry, but it's just me," Anne said quietly to Dûrfang, who was looking at her expectantly. "You are waiting for Legolas, aren't you?"

The stallion snorted, and then made a long neck to sniff Anne's cloak in waist height. Anne dodged the searching nose, while stroking the horse's magnificent head.

"But seriously," she muttered. "Make sure you look out for him, will you? I don't know the details about this Rhun trip, it's true, but somehow I don't think it's going to be a Sunday stroll."

Dûrfang stopped trying to sniff her pockets, raised his head and made the 'hr-hr-hr-hrm-sound' again.

Anne laughed. "What was that?" You mean you like me better than him anyway? Well, I can sort of see where you are coming from, him being him and all that, but still … just try to keep him from doing those terribly - and if you ask me, stupidly - heroic things all too often, if possible, hm? Yes, yes, I know – he can be quite a handful, and I am sure, no one knows that better than you … but, after all, you are probably the more sensible –"

"This does appear to become a habit of yours, does it not? I should watch that, if I were you."

Anne, who had jerked horribly at the first couple of softly spoken words, took several deep breaths before turning around. Legolas was standing in the doorway, leaning against a beam with his arms folded, a small drawstring bag dangling from his shoulder.

"You cannot sneak up on people like that," Anne said accusingly. "It is possible to die of such a shock, did you not know that?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said, sounding thoroughly unconcerned. "And how exactly would one achieve that? You still appear to be in excellent health." Unfolding his arms, Legolas straightened up, took the bag from his shoulder, and started walking down the passageway towards Anne. "I very much doubt if you are in such a danger, but as it was – I did not mean to … 'sneak up' on anybody."

"Oh, of course not!" Anne said, who was, with difficulty, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the elf, who had reached her now and was setting down the drawstring bag to the ground, before opening the door to his horses box.

"Dûrfang heard me, did he not?" replied Legolas, while taking a brush from the drawstring bag and starting to work it across his steeds softly gleaming neck.

"'He saw you', is more likely, I think," said Anne. "I was standing with my back to you, as you might have noticed.

"I should say that you might be a match for him," Legolas retorted. "His eyesight is quite bad."

"Really?" Surprised, Anne looked around at the stallion, momentarily distracted by this piece of information. "I never noticed anything!"

"Yes, he is almost blind on his left eye," said Legolas quietly, now pulling his long fingers through the blackish-brown mane. He then glanced down at Anne. "That should give you an advantage even…"

Anne crossed her arms and frowned at him. "Will you stop comparing me to him already, he is a horse!"

"… But then, I suppose, human eyesight is also rather poor," Legolas continued as if he had not heard her, while turning his attention back to his horse.

Anne tilted her head, considering him through narrowed eyes. "You are in unusually good spirits this morning, aren't you," she said suspiciously.

"Not particularly," Legolas retorted as he started to slowly walk around Dûrfang, letting his hand glide down every one of the horses long, slender legs.

Anne put her elbows on top of the door of Dûrfang's stall, resting her chin in one hand, and looked quizzically at the elf.

"Really? It seems to me like …"

A sudden thought occurred to her then, and her eyes widened. "Did you hear from that Maeren Blackthorn person?"

"Oh yes, she sent word to the inn this morning," said Legolas absentmindedly.

"… And?" Anne prompted him after several moments of silence. "She is going to help you then?"

"No."

Anne's elbow nearly slipped off the door. "_No_? She won't come with you? Why not?"

"I am sure she has her reasons," muttered the elf, now examining a small abrasion just above one of Dûrfang's front hoofs.

Anne let her arms sink down and stared at him, incredulous. "That is it? You came all the way here because you need that woman's help … then she says 'no', pretty much on a whim, I might add – or at least so it seems to me – and you just … you just accept that?"

Legolas straightened up and looked at her. "What would you have me do?"

"I don't … well … you could …" She trailed off, realising that it was hardly her place to argue.

"But … then it was all for nothing," she muttered, lowering her gaze at Dûrfang's head. "It seems like such a waste of time."

Legolas stepped around the stallion, towards the stall door, and, with his hand still on the horse's neck, he looked at Anne; even in the dim light she could make out the green flecks in the elf's eyes. "

„I do not consider it a waste of time," he said calmly. "I came here to speak with Blackthorn, and also to do a friend a favour … however, if it had not been for you, I probably would not have come here at all."

Anne stared at him for a moment, not quite knowing how to respond to this. Legolas turned back towards his horse and bent down to gather up the brush and bag from the ground.

"I … I am sorry," Anne finally mumbled awkwardly.

"You have nothing to apologise for," said Legolas, while stowing the brush in the bag once more. "I did not say it was your fault, I merely explained that my coming here was mainly because of you.

Anne, who had been staring at Dûrfang's constantly moving ears, swallowed to get rid of the strangely dry feeling in her throat, and looked up at the elf. She found that he, in turn, had been watching her, but as soon as their eyes met, he dropped his gaze, and went to pick up the headstall and saddle, which had been hung next to the door.

"What will you do now then," Anne at last asked Legolas, who now stepped back inside the bay and began saddling his horse.

"My plans have not changed. I shall continue on my way."

„Oh." Anne hesitated for a moment. "Are you leaving right away?"

Legolas' hands seemed to stop in mid-movement and, for a moment, hover above the straps of the saddle girth. The next second, however, Anne was already sure that she must have imagined it.

"No," said Legolas placidly, while his fingers nimbly buckled the girth, before he flapped down the saddle-skin.

He then turned to look at Anne, and his face was bearing merely the ghost of a smile. Still, the difference was startling; somehow, it made him look much younger, and the shadows around his eyes and his cheeks seemed to lessen. Despite the fact that Anne had not known him for very long, she felt as though, in moments like this, she might perhaps be catching a glimpse of the person he used to be.

"There are some things I need to take care of first," said the elf now. Friends, who are very dear to me, live close to Bree – since I am here I would like to make sure that they are safe."

"So, you think it is true what they say?" Anne asked, while feeling ridiculously flattered that he would share something personal with her for a change. "Maeren Blackthorn, and the gate keeper last night … I thought he, at least, sounded … well … overly leery, so to speak."

"Perhaps not so much," replied Legolas. "Last night, a group of travellers from _Swanfleet_ in Dunland arrived, shortly after us. They say that they were ambushed less than a day's journey southeast from Bree; they lost two men and nearly all their horses."

"That's horrible," Anne muttered, aghast. "But they … wait … you don't think they could have been the same who attacked Pippin? But we where much further away from the town."

"More likely is that they were not the only ones around this area," said Legolas slowly, while regarding Anne with a strange look on his face. "Also, of course, the people from Dunland may not have told the truth about where and when they where attacked."

"But ... why would they do that? Why lie?" Anne asked, frowning.

Legolas made a strange movement, a sort of shrug and shaking of his head at the same time. "Either way, it does seem to cause enough reason to worry, would you not agree?"

"I believe so … yes," Anne said cautiously. Apart from the fact that he had not answered her question, she had a strong feeling that the elf had not told her everything he thought on the matter. Resigning to the obvious – that she was not going to get anything else out of him, she remembered her original motive for the question. "So you will return here once, before you leave?" she asked, slightly annoyed with herself for how anxious her voice sounded.

"Yes," said Legolas, turning away from her again and busying himself with the saddle once more. "You should go in and eat some breakfast," he then said. Once again, there was an unmistakeable air of dismissal in his tone, though his voice was neither harsh nor cold.

"Er … all right," said Anne. She wanted to say something else, but for some reason could think of absolutely nothing that would fit the situation. She therefore aimed a smile at the elf, which she had a strong feeling he had not seen, and left the stable, her throat feeling uncomfortably dry again. Adding to this, she noticed as she walked through the courtyard again, there also was a strangely tight sensation in her stomach, which she ascribed to hunger.

Anne was still so occupied with said unpleasant feeling, that, when she walked down the passageway behind the entrance she nearly ran headlong into Rosalin, who was carrying a pile of what looked like tablecloths and tea towels. While apologising to the maidservant, Anne suddenly became aware of several raised voices from the main parlour. She noticed Rosalin, who had waved off her apology with a smile, wincing at the sound of the angry male voices, and looking warily in the direction of the parlour.

"What is wrong? Did something happen?" Anne asked curiously.

"What? No, no, nothing is wrong," said the servant slightly distractedly, while shifting the stack of cloth in her arms into a more comfortable position. "It's just … oh well …" Again she eyed the entrance to the parlour apprehensively and then looked around as if to check whether there was anyone else around who might be listening, before leaning in closer to Anne and continuing in a low voice. The fact that she did not really seem to know what to think of Anne obviously did not mean that she could not gossip with her.

"Did you hear about the group from _Swanfleet_ who arrived yesterday also? Well, it seems that they have had quite a bit of trouble with those brigands before already, so now the Dunlanders want to go and hunt them down. They are angry because none of the townsmen are willing to go with them. "

"But weren't two of the them killed during that attack?" Anne asked incredulously. "How can they expect the men of Bree to let themselves be dragged into this? Surely pursuing those people will be very dangerous?"

"Oh, of course it will," said Rosalin, looking rather sensational than troubled. "But they are so furious … they say that they want to reclaim their animals, but Master Butterbur, Blackthorn and the others believe that they are mainly seeking revenge for their dead comrades …"

"Blackthorn?" Anne said astonished. "The Dunlanders asked Maeren Blackthorn to come with them?"

"What?" Rosalin looked puzzled for a moment. Then her eyes widened slightly.

"Oh, no, I'm not talking about _Lady_ Maeren," she said, and her tone made it rather clear that she thought Maeren Blackthorn to be anything but a lady. "Aldwyn Blackthorn, the chief of the border guard - I believe she is a niece of his. Anyways, I believe, they think that the Dunlanders might try to stir up –"

A shout from inside the parlour caused her to jump. "Oh dear, I really need to be going!" she muttered, and hurried through the passageway and the double doors. Curiously, Anne followed her. The parlour was not exactly crowded – compared to the way it had been last night. However, there was still a fair number of chairs occupied, both by men and hobbits; Anne spotted a group of haggard- and disgruntled-looking men, who had to be the people from Dunland. Perhaps it was not a very fair, or unbiased observation, but, somehow, they all seemed quite menacing; an impression that was intensified by the fact that most of them were wearing long, vicious-looking knives at their belts. Rosalin, it appeared had not gotten very far – she obviously had been on her way behind the counter, but found the passage blocked by a particularly burly figure, whose face was largely obscured by a wiry tangle of dark-grey beard. Said individual had apparently been in 'conversation' with the Innkeeper. Butterbur was frowning, but he also looked slightly harassed, and Anne had the impression that the discussion had been in full swing for quite some time already.

"… Begging you pardon, but if the stout men of Bree possess some spark of decency, they will come to help – that's all I'm saying," the bearded man growled, flashing his eyes at Rosalin, who bowed and scurried past him with a muttered "If the sires will excuse me … much work to do …"

To Anne's slight alarm the man now turned to her instead.

„Don't you agree?" he barked.

"Er," said Anne.

"Leave the lass alone, Rooklar," one of the man's companions called over from their table - though rather half-heartedly.

"Smoke out the lot of them, as soon as you've found the holes they're hiding in," said the man named Rooklar savagely. He then eyed Anne, as though she might be hiding one of said brigands underneath her cloak.

"Plenty of foreigners coming through these parts of late. And not just strangers … queer folk, if you know what I mean, and a whole mighty lot of them, too! Them elves turning up in strange places, or so it is said. But then, I saw one of them myself this morning, coming down from the rooms as if it were the most normal thing in the world."

"Unnatural, that's what it is," one of the other men chipped in. "What sort of dealings could those strange folks possibly have with common, hardworking, honest people I ask you! We don't go meddling in their business, and they should do the same! After all, there are spies of the _Grey Feather_ everywhere, and it is said that they walk in harmless looking disguise …"

"If you may call those long-shanked, outlandish secretmongers harmless, that is," a third man, who had a fresh, and vicious-looking cut across his left temple, muttered darkly. "What with the unnatural and dangerous business they are said to be involved with, if half of the stories are true."

"Dark and evil magic, some might call it!" another one threw in.

"Ah, now, but I wouldn't go that far," said Butterbur, who looked very uncomfortable indeed.

"Be that as it may," Rooklar now growled. "All those strangers like dwarves and elves and what not, who usually keep to themselves, suddenly walking among us like normal people – this can only come to a bad end, you mark my words!"

"Ahem … excuse me," said Anne. "But what is the _Grey Feather_?"

They all stared at her. After a moment, Butterbur gave a little cough and muttered:" Ah, well ... really I don't think this should be spoken of in front of ..."

Rooklar, however, snorted and shook his head.

"Are you saying you have not heard of the Order of the _Grey Feather_? Where on earth have you been these last few months, pray tell?"

'Completely sealed off, with one of the unnatural, long-shanked secretmongers', Anne thought, and then tried to remember whether Legolas had ever mentioned something about a feather or an order. She felt like something was stirring at the very back of her mind, but had no idea whether it was the memory of anything real, or merely her subconscious mind associating the man's words with something completely unrelated. She was just about to as what exactly this Order of the Grey Feather was supposed to be, when someone called her name. She looked around, and to her immense relief and delight, her eyes found Pippin; he was waving, while leaning around the hobbit next to him at the small corner table, where she had not spotted him before.

Anne, who was not at all sorry to escape the ill-humoured Dunlanders, aimed an apologetic smile at the men, and with a hurried "Excuse me ... just saw a couple of friends over there …" she made her way across the room towards the table where the hobbits were sitting and sharing what looked like an opulent breakfast. Anne was greeted very politely and at once urged to sit down in one of the two last vacant chairs, before she had found the time to even take off her cloak. She was just gratefully accepting a piece of buttered and honeyed bread from Pippin, when she heard another unexpected voice.

"Well, well, if it isn't the young lady, who is, to all intents and purposes, not travelling with the elf."

Anne turned so quickly in her seat that she nearly dropped her honey-dripping piece of bread into the lap of the hobbit sitting next to her.

Maeren Blackthorn meandered around the bench of a neighbouring table, and sat down in the last empty chair, directly opposite Anne.

"Uhm …," said Anne. "Good morning, … lady …"

She faltered when the hobbit next to her snorted. The other woman gave her a lopsided smile.

"Call me Maeren," she said. "I believe I can truthfully say that I am not exactly considered a lady by most of this town – be they my friends or not," she added dryly, giving the hobbit next to Anne, who was still sniggering, a haughty look. She then smiled at Anne in a manner that reminded the latter why she had mistaken the other woman for a man, the first time. Had this certain smile been 'worn' by a man, it would have been one of those, which seem to have the sole purpose of causing young women to swoon over them.

"Begging you pardon," Maeren said smoothly. "But what did you say your name was again?"

Anne stared at her. "I … I did not."

The smile did not fade from Maeren's face – rather she managed to frown at the same time. "That was a bit dull, now," She said, sounding almost disappointed.

"Now, now," Pippin threw in half-heartedly (and rather thickly through a mouthful of scrambled eggs).

"It's Anne," Anne said through gritted teeth.

Maeren turned to the hobbit next to her. "Is that her name now, what do you reckon, Hal? It would seem that everything about her is a bit confusing ."

Anne suppressed her annoyance at the other woman, and raised her eyebrows. "It would seem that the dull one of us might be the Lady Maeren Blackthorn, after all.

„Indeed!" Maeren laughed, sounding rather amused than offended. "Friends beware! This one has a sharp tongue. You spent too much time with the elf, it would seem," she added towards Anne.

"That I will not argue," Anne replied dryly. "Although I beg to differ as for whether he is to be blamed – at least this time. Elves are much more skilful and distinguished in their remarks, in regard to their courtesies, as well as – or even more so – to their insolences, if my experiences so far are anything to judge by. However, I suppose I have spent enough time in his company to render me able to give, and not just to take.

"And that is just as well," said the hobbit named Hal. "'Seldom those are without flaw who judge the other first', as we say here in Bree!"

"You just made that up!" another one of the hobbits chimed in, but was ignored by Hal, who waved an impatient hand and continued.

"As for sharpness of tongues, Maeren here is such as none could rival – or if there is someone, I have yet to meet them. But please, Miss Anne, don't heed her words too much – for on the inside this lass has a heart as gentle as anyone could wish for. It just pleases her to tread on people's toes; some of them may deserve it, while others may not, and sometimes – for a lack of the former, it hits those who may not deserve it a bit harder than necessary, if you follow me. But despite the 'sharp-tongue-ness' she's really all bark and no bite."

Maeren glowered at the hobbit.

"You better heed your own tongue, or you shall be the first one to be bitten," she said while brandishing her fork at him.

Anne did not know whether to laugh or not; while she was still not quite ready to revoke her initial impression of the other woman being rather haughty and wilful, these friendly, good-natured and merry hobbits obviously liked Maeren and seemed to think highly of her, and - in Anne's opinion - that spoke in Maeren's favour.

Apparently the subject of her thoughts had noticed Anne's pensive expression; Maeren frowned, while looking at Anne, her face suddenly guarded.

"Do I have something on my nose?" she asked testily.

"May I ask you a question?" Anne quickly shot back.

Maeren seemed taken aback for a moment, but then she inclined her head and waved her hand in a mockingly inviting way. "Go on, then."

"Well, it's … about your decision regarding Legolas," Anne hemmed and hawed. "It's just … I mean to say – if I understood you correctly, you are heading east as it is. Why would you not –"

Anne paused, uncomfortable aware of them all staring at her. She was not exactly sure how to ask this, and now wondered (belatedly) if it was not a question too personal after all. She did not, however, get the chance to regret her daring, for at that moment, there was a deafening crash behind them, causing her to jump. The noise was followed by a furious exclamation:

"Mind where you're going, will you!"

Anne turned in time to see Rosalin bend down, red-faced, to gather up several cups as well as the shards of something that looked like a couple of broken plates, while Rooklar, the burly Dunlander with the dark beard, whom the maid had apparently just run into, was glowering down at her.

"No, no, please do not trouble yourself," Rosalin muttered to Anne, who had, without thinking, crouched down to scoop up a few pieces of the broken dishes from underneath her chair.

Anne stood up and made to hand the shards to the serving maid, but before she could do so, someone grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, and pushed her to the floor once more; she cried out – more out of surprise than because of pain – and looked up at Rooklar, who had planted himself in front of her, and whose face was contorted with rage.

Anne was so perplexed that all she could do was open her mouth and mutely stare at the man. She vaguely registered that the room had gone deadly quiet, as if everyone was holding their breath. She wondered dully what they were all waiting for, and why nobody was doing something.

The Dunlander, who was now pointing his knife at her, made a growling noise like a provoked beast, and his face twisted into a grimace that actually might have been a grin. "The audacity!" he spat. "You were having a right laugh at us, I bet!"

Anne had not the faintest idea what was going on. Her eyes fell on Rosalin, who stood, seemingly frozen in mid-motion, a few paces behind the angry man in front of Anne. The servant's face reflected the incomprehension that Anne was experiencing herself. Then however, Rosalin's expression changed suddenly; her eyes widened, and her lips opened, forming a silent 'oh'. Anne thought she saw understanding dawn on the girl's face, and then – though she could not think of a reason why – something else, that almost looked like fear.

Anne's brain felt like it had gone slightly numb as she stupidly looked around at the people sitting or standing about her; she vaguely noticed that, while the hobbits from her table were, like everyone else, staring at the scene in shock, Maeren Blackthorn's expression on the other hand was merely thoughtful.

Anne did not dare struggle against the grip on her shoulders – not with the blade of the knife so close to the skin of her neck. Instead, she focused on the man in front of her; surely she had, unknowingly, said or done something to offend these people – some sort of blunder that she could not know about – and now all she had to do was to quickly clear up the misunderstanding, whatever it had been caused by. Therefore she attempted a calm and reasonable tone – which, admittedly, failed slightly due to her shaking voice.

"Forgive me, but … I … ahem … really don't know what exactly you are so angry about …"

"'Don't know what I'm angry about', indeed! " Rooklar hissed. "You people are not content with murdering and plundering, you seek to humiliate us as well!"

"What! What … 'people',"Anne spluttered, who was now getting increasingly nervous by the untamed aggression in the Dunlander's whole demeanour.

"You show some nerve, I have to hand it to you! But perhaps you are just mad or stupid …"

Anne winced as the man suddenly grabbed at her neck; all he did, however, was to grasp the leaf pendant, which had slid out of the neckline of her dress.

"Asking us about the _Grey Feather_," Rooklar growled, while letting the pendant, which Anne had thought looked like a leaf, dangle in front of her face. "… while openly wearing this filthy sign of theirs!"

**:::**

**III III III**

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**AN: **There actually isn't so much I need to say, other than I'm sorry about yet another cliffhanger ;) Also I hope the cut between 22 and 23 turned out halfway decent; I didn't like doing it, but as you can now see, both parts put together would have been some ten thousand words. You may think Anne seems a bit fickle and distracted in this chapter, but, after all, she is suddenly in a strange town, surrounded by strange people, and has NO idea what to expect.

I wonder if anyone noticed: Hal – the hobbit at Pippin's table who spoke to Anne – his name is in fact another loan from Tolkien's works. In case someone's interested – Hal, was a hobbit from Overhill who claimed to have seen an Ent in Northfarthing, although the hobbits called them 'Tree-Men', or giants then. Also he was a cousin of Sam ;)

Last but not least, thanks so much for reading this story, and for telling me what you think about it! (And despite me taking so much time, too!) THANK YOU!

(Oh, and a little extra thanks to the wonderful, creative and talented 'Juli68' for the beautiful cover he made for Astray. Sorry it took me so much time to realise there actually is an 'Image-Manager-function' now**. :-* )**


	24. In Deep Water

**AN:** My sincere apologies for the long time it took for this chapter to be posted. I hope the length of this one can somewhat make up for the long waiting.

And, as ever – my most heartfelt thanks to everyone reading this story, and especially to those who take the time to leave comments and concrit – so many lovely reviews last time, THANK YOU! Truly :)

* * *

**III III III**

**:::**

Rooklar's last declaration was followed by a silence that was if possible even deeper than before.

It did not last, however.

From every corner the sound of nervous whispering erupted, spreading quickly like little fires. The atmosphere in the room had changed completely, it was now so dense with tension you could have cut it with a knife, a mixture of excitement and fear palpable even to Anne, who was numb with shock.

All she could think, or rather what her mind was shouting at her over and over again, was that what this man was saying made no sense. He was mistaken, surely, had to be! Her brain simply refused to accept it; this was impossible …was it not?

"You're … you're wrong," she finally managed to get out, still very much aware of the terribly sharp knife the other Dunlander was holding.

"'Wrong', eh, am I now?" Rooklar sneered. He turned towards the innkeeper. "I demand that this woman is arrested immediately!"

Mr. Butterbur looked indeed most distressed, and not a little alarmed at the turn the situation had taken. "Well, er … really, I am not sure … perhaps we should not rush our fences …" With obvious unease he glanced around at his guests, who, in turn, were regarding Anne with increasing mistrust; no one looked particularly sympathetic at this strange woman's situation.

"She is, after all, a guest in my house, and if all of this is indeed a misunderstanding -"

Rooklar's barking, and entirely mirthless laugh cut the landlord short.

"I think not! I'm afraid there is no room for misunderstanding here, Mr. Butterbur. As I said, I remember that symbol all too well! Therefore we demand that she be committed to us as soon as circumstances allow, so we may proceed as we see fit –"

"Now, look here, my good man!"

It was Pippin, who had spoken. When Anne turned her head to look at him, she saw that he had stood, and was now staring at the Dunlander with a fire in his eyes, and an air of confidence about his whole bearing, that made the hobbit's small figure suddenly appear in a completely different light.

"Perhaps, in your homeland, it is the custom to pass sentence over people, and decide about their fates without trial or even real evidence, but it is not how things are done around here, that's for sure."

Pippin glanced at Anne before continuing.

"Mind you, under different circumstances this were hardly any of your business – however, it is my understanding that this young lady came here after having lost her family - and in the company of a very old and dear friend of mine, who belongs to a good, noble and ancient people, who deserve better than this talk about 'unnatural' and 'evil magic' or some such nonsense as you and your handsome friends there have been railing on about. If, in truth, that is your opinion of a gentle and loving folk such as the elves, then frankly, you have no idea what you are talking about, and it would seem that wisdom wanes in Dunland. As for the lady Anne – she came here under the protection of my friend, and if he vouches for her, that should be enough for anybody, I should think! At any rate, scaring this young thing half to death without so much as real proof for your accusation was certainly uncalled for!"

There had been muffled shouts of outrage from the Dunlanders at the hobbit's comments about their homeland and their ignorance, but while they still seemed indignated, most of them now started to look a little shamefaced. This was, no doubt aided by the effect that the hobbit's little speech was having on the Breelanders. It was obvious that Pippin was well known, and respected by most of the people here (and not solely by the hobbits, it has to be said), and his words had raised doubts.

Mutterings about 'trouble seekers' and 'brutes' could be heard, as well as 'being rash' and "having enough on our plates without such folly". One or two gave the Dunlanders black looks. After all, there had indeed been dealings – if scarcely and increasingly so – between the people from Rivendell and Bree throughout the years. The village folk had also heard quite a bit about the Elves and their deeds since the great war (albeit some of it exaggerated), and thus knew what Pippin had said about them to be perfectly true. Most of them, however, were simply extremely reluctant to be roped in to some 'poorly prepared revenge campaign, or some other dubious, and no doubt dangerous affairs' of the Dunlanders. They had their own business to mind, so they thought, and, frankly, this was really the last thing they needed at the best of times – and particularly at strange and uncertain times as they seemed to be facing now once more.

Little did Anne know any of this, and she could therefore not help thinking that some of the Breelanders sudden change of heart seemed rather unconvincing – not that she was going to complain about it.

"Well, I for one agree entirely with Master Pippin here," the hobbit named Hal now chipped in. "The poor lass, being daunted and shouted at and bullied like this, and what with no proper family and having to be taken in by the elven folk and all that! And all of this because of something she doesn't seem to know nothing about – that 'order-feather-pendant thing', if that's even what it is! Looks more like a beech leaf to me, if truth be told."

All around, the inn's guests were craning their necks, or else shifting around slightly in their seats, in order to get a better look at Anne – those of them who had not started doing so during Pippins little speech already, that was.

Anne could feel her face burn. As grateful as she was to the two hobbits for their words, she could not help but wish that all of this had not been made quite so publicly. Then again she realised that, after that rather dramatic opening by Rooklar's group, and thus the cat being out of the bag, so to speak - there really was not much that could be done for her benefit, other than to try and keep the damage as little as possible. Pippin had obviously been hoping to achieve precisely that, namely by appealing to the Breelanders curiosity and sympathy. Why, exactly, he would go to these lengths for Anne, she was not entirely sure, since he really barely knew her. It only added to her gratitude, though.

The stark and undeniable truth was that there was nothing – absolutely nothing she could have said to defend herself.

Notwithstanding that, for the moment, no one seemed to particularly care for _her_ explanation as for why she was in possession of such a thing to begin with …

Still sitting on the floor, now immobilised with tense anticipation rather than fear, Anne felt like her mind was suddenly in overdrive.

Was she supposed to try and explain that she did not know where the necklace came from? That, as far as she knew (or rather didn't know), it might not even be hers, that she could have been given it, could have stolen it (though, that might not sound so good either), she could have simply found it anywhere – literally anywhere! The trouble with that, of course, being that she would not even know about any such thing ever having occurred, let alone Legolas and Pippin being well aware of that fact.

Should she tell them that she could not remember anything prior to her awaking in Carrockton several months ago? Somehow, Anne doubted that an obscure tale of flight and memory loss was likely to dispel any distrust or misgivings the Breelanders were harbouring, or indeed, would make her seem any less suspicious than she already must appear to them.

Quite the opposite, probably, so she thought.

Not that it mattered at the moment; most of the other guests, while still staring at Anne now and again, seemed more wary of Rooklar and his companions. Although the Dunlanders were retreating a little, they were now arguing that Anne should at least be held for the time being, and that – even if nobody cared to assist them – they should be allowed to question her. However, Butterbur, though still rather flustered, made it clear he did not think much of that idea - much to Anne's relief.

"No, really, Mr. Rooklar, I cannot allow you to treat one of my guests … and with the young lady being in the company of one of them Elven Lords …"

The landlord blanched at the mere thought.

"No, no, it's downright unthinkable! There is something peculiar about this whole business and no mistake, but that is not for me to decide – nor is it for any of you, masters! Surely the elf-lord would not have brought her here if he thought her a threat – and if, indeed, she were to stay in Bree –"

"'_Stay here_'?"

A slightly haggard-looking man, sitting at one of the corner tables, had spoken; he was glancing from the landlord to Anne and back again, with a mixture of bemusement and alarm on his face.

Nor was he the only one.

All over the room people were shaking their heads, while muttering under their breaths or exchanging wary glances with their neighbours. Anne could see Rosalin whispering something to the other maidservant, who had apparently come out from one of the backrooms to see what all the noise was about. The girl nodded to whatever Rosalin had said, and they both looked at Anne darkly.

It seemed obvious to Anne that most of the present company was, if not quite ready to hand her over to the bunch of angry Dunlanders, certainly not overly thrilled by the prospect of having her in their midst for any prolonged length of time. The impression was perhaps not overwhelming, but the dark looks and exchange of glances were hard to miss, and also not that difficult to read, even for her.

"Ah, well … yes … indeed," Butterbur replied haltingly. "That was in fact the reason for their coming here, so I understand."

He glanced at Anne.

"Not that this needs to be discussed here and now, mind you."

"And that does not make you suspicious?"

Rooklar obviously was not quite ready to relent.

"That elf brings a stranger here, intending to leave her right amongst you! Not the most common thing to do, even for one of them I don't think – gathering up young women and having them tag along for heaven knows what reasons." The Dunlander looked about him as if hoping for support. "For all we know she might have been sent to spy on you for them!"

"Now, hold hard, sir," Butterbur spluttered, looking not a little peeved. "That does seem somewhat farfetched, does it not? Next thing you will be accusing me of allowing potentially dangerous strangers to stay in my house! The Elf-lord paid for both their lodgings, all proper and in order, and with no funny business about it. He also made no secret of the reason for bringing the lady here –"

"Indeed," snarled Rooklar.

"Where is he then, your handsome Elf-lord, I ask you? Made a run for it, if you ask me, probably off to some other murky business, and only then for his little wench here to turn up, brazenly wearing that evil thing! Even if she doesn't know anything about it as she claims, who can tell what uses those queer elvish folk may have put her –"

"_Rubbish_!"

Anne had not realised quite how loud this was going to come out. She had not intended to shout, and as she was no slowly getting to her feet – all the while not taking her eyes off the Dunlander, who was glaring at her in appalled disbelief. She was vaguely aware of everyone in the room staring at her again, and that it probably would have been wiser to hold her tongue. She suddenly realised that the surge of anger she felt was as much on the behalf of Legolas as on her own – if not more so. For some strange and probably ridiculous reason that knowledge gave her the strength and determination to shake off her shocked numbness.

Pippin was right; the elf did not deserve this! He had taken her in, protected her, fed her even clothed her at one point, not to speak of having gone to the trouble of letting her travel with him. She knew that she owed him her life; even if it had not been for the attack by the altered ones then in the wood, she would never have made it on her own. In the event he had saved her life (albeit after having shot her in the back, it was true, but that was not the point here.

„I … I mean to say …"

Anne paused as she heard her own voice quivering; her palms were sweaty, and she felt a little sick to her stomach, but she gave herself an angry, mental push and then went on nonetheless. It took all her strength of will not to avert her eyes from Rooklar's glare, though.

"You … you have no right to say such things."

Rooklar stared at her as if he was not sure he had heard her correctly.

"'_No right'_?!"

"No, because … well …" Anne swallowed, her hand at her throat and fumbling for the chain around her neck.

"It is true, I cannot tell you where this came from, nor how it is that I have it … but then I did not even know what it was, or what this shape was supposed to mean, so –"

"Ah, a very likely story!" Rooklar sneered. "Just fell from the skies, I assume …"

"Have you not heard what I said, Mr. Rooklar?" Pippin interrupted angrily. "She does not remember anything, other than she has lost all, or most of her family. That was in part the reason why she came here with the elf, why she was with him in the first place. Is it not obvious that this poor woman must have been through something terrible and –"

"Please, Master Took," Anne had spoken quietly, but Pippin fell silent and looked at her, somewhat bewildered.

Anne aimed a faltering smile at him.

"I thank you for your words … it was most kind of you to speak on my behalf, but …" She dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling that bundle of nerves in her stomach more than ever.

"But I think, what is more important is what you said before." She looked back at Rooklar, wringing her hands together as she did so, to stop them from shaking.

"Lord Legolas does not deserve to be spoken of in such a manner. Do you think I do not realise how strange and ominous my story must sound to you – to any of you, really …"

She nervously glanced around the room, not able to bring herself to meet anybody's eyes. She vaguely noticed that there seemed to be more people about than before. Looking back at the Dunlander, she said:

"I understand that there is probably nothing I could say to make all this sound less questionable, and I do not expect you to believe me, but …"

Anne hesitated for a second.

There was a little voice in the back of her head telling her not to be stupid - that she had probably done enough damage already, that it might be wiser not to draw even more attention to herself, _and_ to the elf, and that she should really just shut up, let them rant and leave it at that …

However, the voice was growing fainter even as she considered it, drowned out, perhaps, by the blood rushing in her ears.

She took a deep breath and ignored it.

"No matter what you think of _me_, Lord Legolas has shown me nothing but kindness, like Mr. Took here, and certainly has done nothing to warrant your evil and spiteful talk."

Rooklar looked like he was fit to explode. "_'My _evil_'_… Who do you think you are, you stupid wench! My men have been killed because of people like that!"

"That's not true!"

"Those _are_ very serious accusation, Mr. Rooklar," Butterbur said with a frown. "Without proof –"

"He brought her here, bearing the order's sign, how is that no proof!" the Dunlander barked.

"He did no such thing!" Anne said angrily. "_I _bore it, not he. What happened to your people is terrible, but he had nothing to do with it! We must have been miles away when that happened. And I have had that necklace long before I met him – he never even saw it! He never knew about it!"

"Ah, but _of course_ he did not," Rooklar said scathingly, looking at Anne with utter contempt, before addressing the room as a whole once more.

"No doubt she is lying, her story makes no sense! Perhaps she is under the influence of some sort of evil magic – either way, that elf came here bearing that symbol of –"

"HE CAME HERE SEEKING HELP!" Anne shouted, forgetting herself completely.

She was only half aware of the appalled silence in which everyone seemed to be staring at her, but right now she did not really care. She felt herself shaking with anger and disgust at the injustice of it all.

"Where we come from – I have seen 'evil magic', as you put it, or at least evil things! I have seen what men became because of it, what those people were capable of … Lord Legolas had nothing to do with it, he _fought_ them! They would have … if he had not …"

She faltered, suddenly overcome by the memory of that horror. Those men who had attacked their group from Carrockton, and then herself, in the Eryn Lasgalen … the destroyed camp they had come through after crossing the mountains … all those left behind corpses … the body of that woman – broken, defiled and left to rot …

And there was something … something she felt that she was supposed to remember, some sort of connection she was supposed to make …Perhaps she was simply too agitated right now, but the thread was gone before she had a chance to grasp and fix it.

Anne turned to look at Pippin, who was staring at her in shock, and her voice was thick when she spoke again.

"You said you think I have been through something terrible … even if I have – I know that nothing that happened to me could possibly be more horrible than whatever he has gone through! It is almost like … whatever evil he saw – it has very nearly broken him …"

She turned back towards Rooklar, glaring at the Dunlander.

"And that is why you have no right to talk about him like that! That evil – whatever it is – he is still fighting it! He risks his life fighting it and trying to help innocent people ... I have seen him do so, even when we were on our way here! I have been with him, not because of some 'magic' of his, but because he was stuck with me after having saved my life! He was only ever hoping to find help here, but it was mostly my fault that he even came to Bree! I will not sit here and listen to the diatribes of ignorant people who are only looking for someone to blame for their problems!"

There were gasps from many in the room at that point, and Rooklar, whose face had turned increasingly puce underneath his beard, while Anne had been talking, practically exploded.

"HOW _DARE_ YOU –"

"Now - that will do, I think, Mr. Rooklar!"

The landlord had come out from behind his counter and was now beckoning the pimply-faced youth who had greeted them the night before, as well as another male servant to come over to them. It seemed that Theobald Butterbur, for all his patience and jovial politeness, had had just about enough. Despite the Dunlanders protests he proceeded to usher them out of the room, albeit with courtesy.

"I will not have any more of this … No, no, really – whatever else it is you have to say, it will have to wait, I'm afraid. You have given my guests enough to gossip over for the time being, I would think … There - Tom will show you to another parlour, and I shall arrange for your meal to be served in there … No, Mr. Rooklar, this has gone far enough, really. And I must say I agree with Master Took – a piece of jewellery can hardly count as evidence in such a matter … Now, this way, if you please …"

Meanwhile, Anne, who was still standing next to the table of the hobbits, became aware that her heart was pounding, and that she was breathing rather fast. The little voice inside her head from before was back, and at full volume, asking her what the heck she had just done – although not loud enough that it would have drowned out the appalled whispering around her. It was, however, the expression on Pippin's face when at last she turned around that really brought her back to her senses, and told her – more than anything else - that she really had gone too far.

"We should take our leave, I think," Maeren Blackthorn muttered.

"Butterbur looked rather strained, he will probably be glad to see the back of many here … perhaps then some calm and order can be restored."

The hobbits muttered their agreements, one by one getting to their feet and making their way to the door. Anne noted that Hal was the only one who looked her in the eye, and gave her a slightly forced looking grin. The look Maeren Blackthorn gave her, before nodding in both her and Pippin's direction, was unreadable. Most of the guests seemed to be following the hobbits example, and began filing out the door, to go about their daily business and, in case of the few overnight guests, either getting ready for their departures or retiring to their rooms.

The few stranglers were still shooting weird glances in Anne's direction, as she was very uncomfortably aware of. Similarly, More than one of those who were leaving gave her unfriendly looks on their way out.

At last, the only one left at her former table was Pippin, who appeared to be sitting in a kind of shocked stupor, his elbows on the tabletop and with one hand in front of his mouth. Anne clumsily sat down opposite him, feeling an odd weight slowly settling in her stomach.

„Oh no … Pippin, I..."

"Anne! Good gracious, what –" The hobbit interrupted himself, when he saw her wince, slowly taking his hand from his mouth. He was still regarding her with a very serious expression, but when he spoke again, his voice was softer.

"What on earth did you do that for? As if those men had not already drawn enough attention to you …"

"I know, Pippin, I know … I was telling myself the exact same thing," Anne muttered, still feeling rather shaken.

"But I just … _snapped_, if you know what I mean, and then … well …"

"I know what you mean. Mind you, even if I didn't, the way you screamed at that bearded tree of a man made it more than clear that… Ah, there comes Mr. Butterbur! I shall ask him for a private little parlour, I think. No need to put you on any more display, and I expect you would not mind being out from under all these curious eyes, may they be unfriendly or not."

It turned out there was another small back parlour, and the landlord was only too happy to show them to the room, which was cosy enough with its own little hearth, a round table in the centre of the room, and comfortable looking chairs, nice and low even for a hobbit. No sooner had Pippin and Anne settled themselves in two of the chairs, there was a knock on the door, and Rosalin appeared, carrying a tray with a large, steaming pot and cups. The serving maid kept her gaze fixed on her hands as she served them what Pippin loudly declared as the best tea east from the shire (and even though he was speaking directly at her at one point), and then hurried out of the room again, muttering her excuses, however, not before she had shot Anne a nervous and suspicious glance.

Anne looked after the girl unhappily.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for that the people here would not take the Dunlanders all too seriously? What they said about me being one of that … that 'Grey Feather Order' …"

Pippin looked at her sternly.

"I know you feel treated unfairly, but with everything going on of late – the terrible things happening everywhere – that is very dark business, and does indeed need to be taken seriously, even if the methods of some people may be … a tad imprudent."

"I am sorry," Anne muttered sheepishly.

"I did not mean to belittle what happened to them, it is just – well it seemed to me like they were so desperate to find someone to blame for what they have lost, that they cannot see clearly anymore. Lashing out at everything and everyone …"

Pippin sadly shook his head.

"Who knows … losing friends – perhaps even seeing them killed in front of you - it changes people. For some it may be easier to deal with such things if they turn their grief in to anger."

Anne nodded mutely, not knowing what to respond.

"But to answer your question," Pippin went on. "The Breelanders are a fine people, but they are more wary now than they used to be, and perhaps that is no bad thing, in some regard. At any rate, what happened today will be spoken of for quite a while, I'm afraid. I do not think that most of them actually believe that you have any intention to harm them – nor that Legolas does."

He frowned at Anne, who felt suddenly very glum at the mention of the elf.

"Ah, I see that you realise this is probably the worst part of the whole mess? Those things you said about him – that was most unwise, Anne, more than anything else you said, I am afraid."

"I understand that, believe me, I do!"

Anne felt more and more upset, hearing Pippin confirm what she had already suspected – that she had indeed done something incredible stupid.

"The moment I opened my mouth I knew it was a mistake, but I … Oh, I don't know, I just could not stop myself, I felt so angry - and the more I talked –"

"Or rather 'shouted'," muttered Pippin. He looked at her crestfallen face and sighed.

"I know you meant well, but even so – speaking of his private dealings and personal business like that, to complete strangers … in front of a crowd … and assuming that it must have occurred to you at some point that he, no doubt, would never wish for such things to become known to anyone – and particularly not to a bunch of gossipy Breelanders …"

Anne stared at him, feeling her heart sinking.

Perhaps she had been a little more stupid than she had initially thought.

Pippin, seeing the look on her face, raised his eyebrows, while sipping on his tea.

"Ah, well, what did you expect me to say? It was an extremely foolish thing to do. But no matter now – what's done is done, and no yammering or whinging will undo it. However, Legolas will not be amused by all this and no mistake."

Anne was fairly sure that 'not amused' would turn out to be an understatement. The thought of how the elf would react, should he hear about the matter, made her feel faintly sick to her stomach. She was also fairly sure that he WOULD hear about it, if only because the whole town was likely to know about the incident by tomorrow. (At the latest, that was.)

Pippin, who had watched her, seemed to be guessing at what was going on inside her head.

"You need not fear quite so much, perhaps," he said kindly. "He may seem stern at times – far more than he used to, I must say - but he will understand that you did not mean for any of it to happen, and will be fair in his assessment, I am certain of it. After all, Elves are nothing if not forgiving and considerate, and they are well aware of the fact that mortals tend to be less … well, levelheaded, so to speak, than they might be themselves in similar situations. Legolas may be more gentle than you seem to give him credit for – even if there will be a bit of … 'telling-off', no doubt."

Anne did not doubt that there would be – nor did she believe, in all honesty, that it would be merely 'a bit'. She suspected that there was little use in worrying about it now, though.

"Why did that Rooklar speak so ill about the elves?" she wondered aloud. "From what I have seen, everyone seems either to be in awe of them, calling them 'lords' and such, or at the very least think very highly of them all - or else people appear to be suspicious of them … frightened even."

"Yes, well," sighed Pippin. "We fear what we cannot understand, has it not always been so? I am no scholar on these matters, mind you, and can thus only speak from my own experiences, like every sensible hobbit. But perhaps it is meant to be this way. The mortal peoples are wary of things that they cannot grasp and of those that might seem … well, _unnatural_ to them, if you can follow me. Of course this will generate narrow-mindedness and prejudice to some extend. I have seen I have seen ignorance and superstition turn many a fine hobbit and man into a fool and no mistake. One must not forget, though, that the fear of the unknown also makes us cautious – leaves us less likely, perhaps, to suddenly find ourselves faced with something a tad too _big_ for us, so to speak."

But it does not always work out that way, does it?" Anne muttered quietly. "Sometimes we still have to face … things … even if they are such as we are powerless against."

Pippin shot her a strange look: sharp, and somewhat searching. However, as soon as Anne had time think this, his face relaxed again, and he smiled at her, albeit a little sadly.

"Yes … yes, I expect sometimes we do. And make no mistake," He wagged a finger at her. "I would never claim that elves are above such things. There have been evil deeds done by elves, and they are, no doubt, capable of fear and despair and dark thoughts, just as the rest of us. Indeed ..."

He cast Anne a sideways look.

"You were better not to mention this to any of them but … well, the truth is, I think that they are indeed capable to experience such feelings more strongly than others – that is, _if_ they do, you know, and if they let it happen to them – precisely because of their greater power, and … well, the way they are made, if you know what I mean."

Anne nodded, although her mind was reeling a little.

"Yes, Legolas once mentioned something similar to me."

"Did he now?"

Pippin looked at her curiously for a moment, but apparently decided not to enquire further.

"Well, at any rate it would seem like it occurs with the elves a lot less. They do have the advantage of the wisdom of ages - one must not forget that. Makes them more farsighted on most matters, which is only to be expected, I should think."

He looked at Anne keenly. "And for Legolas goes the same, although you probably know that. It fact, I must say, it was a bit of a pleasant surprise to hear you defend him like that. I would fight shy of claiming that the manner in which you did it was appropriate, but it was clear that you meant what you said. You never had misgivings about him then? After all, it must have been quite a bit of a shock when you suddenly came upon him."

"Oh no, I did think him queer at first," Anne said with a slight smile. She saw the hobbit raise his eyebrows at her.

"Ah … well … that is to say … I was a little overwhelmed by everything, back then," she hurried to add.

"Also he probably thought the same thing about me."

After a brief consideration, Anne decided not to go into the details on how exactly she had met the elf.

"It was just … he was so very withdrawn and distant. You know, when we met you there on the road – it was actually the first time I saw him laugh."

It had been meant as a light comment, but Anne immediately regretted having said it, as she saw Pippin's face; He looked unsettled, even a little distressed. For a moment he stared outside into the rainy greyness beyond the windows, and Anne followed his example, silently cursing herself for not thinking before speaking.

"You really do not know anything about the _Grey Feather_, or about that necklace of yours, do you?"

Anne looked at the hobbit in surprise, taken aback by the sudden, and seemingly unrelated question. "No," she said slowly, and then – a little more vehemently than she had intended to: "No, I told the truth."

Pippin smiled thinly at her. "I am not accusing you of lying. However …" He gave her another one of those keen looks. "There is something else, though, is there not? Of course I could be mistaken, or it may be that it has indeed nothing to do with any of this, but …" Although they were alone in the room, he dropped his voice a little.

"Anne … _is_ there something you remembered?"

Anne swallowed. Yes, there was something. She had not been able to make the connection earlier – or if she had, it had been merely subconsciously, and later she had very deliberately avoided thinking about these things. Yet now it was there, the image as brutally clear and razor-sharp in her mind, almost as if she had just left that clearing, and the memory as fresh as it had been right after that moment. Even now, she did not want to go back to that memory – did not want to relive those moments of horror. Somehow, though, she felt like she owed it to Pippin, after all he had done for her. Her voice sounded a little hoarse when, at last, she spoke.

"On our way here … we came across a camp of … of Wood Men – or at least, so Legolas thought. He said they had been ambushed, and probably by the same people who attacked our group from Carrockton. They had … there was nobody left …"

"I understand," Pippin said quietly.

"Yes … anyway, there was a woman … she was –"

"Anne!" Pippin interrupted her, looking shocked and distressed. "Really, I do not think –"

"No," Anne said quickly. "Please let me finish. I cannot be certain, but for all I know, this could be important." She took a deep breath. "When the Dunlanders spoke about that order … about the _Grey Feather_ … I remembered something. I was not sure at first, and it took me a while to realise what it was, but … I thought that I had somehow come across something strange involving a feather before. Then I realised, I had not heard about it, but I _saw_ one. That woman in the camp …" Anne swallowed again.

"There was a feather, Pippin, a _grey_ feather, tied to a branch, as if someone had left it there, almost like a …" She shuddered. "Like a mark, or a signature …"

She looked up at the hobbit. "I could be wrong, I know … it could be a coincidence, I suppose."

Pippin slowly shook his head; his face was very dark. "I very much doubt that, Anne." There was a pause before Pippin asked: "Legolas saw this as well?"

"I am not sure … I think so, but he seemed rather more concerned with getting away from there as quickly as possible." Anne was astonished at the strange detachment that she could hear in her own voice.

"Well, if not, he should know about it," Pippin muttered.

There was another pause, in which Anne was casting around wildly for something to say. In the end, it was the mention of the elf that made her think of something.

"You said that Legolas did not use to be … well, quite how he is now," she said finally. "Is he so very different, then? From how he used to be back when you first met him, I mean."

Pippin looked at her gravely. "Yes. Yes, he is, I think. But do not ask me how that came to pass, for I don't know – and although I could guess at some of it, perhaps, it would not be my place to speak about, not to you, or to anyone else, safe, perhaps, his closest friends."

Anne nodded, awkwardly. "Of course, I realise. I did not mean to pry."

"I know you did not."

The hobbit smiled at Anne, but it was also very clear from his tone that he could not be moved to say anything else on the matter – nor would Anne have expected him to, if truth were told.

"I kind of wonder what will happen now, to be honest," she said, trying to change the subject, but also voicing something that had started to occupy her mind ever since they had left the main parlour, and with increasing force. "Somehow, I doubt that the people of Bree will be too happy about me staying here," unable to keep a slightly sour note from her voice. "No matter whether they actually believe everything those men from Dunland have said, or simply of me as a nuisance they could do without."

"Ah, now, you should not get ahead of yourself," said Pippin, and Anne could tell he was trying to sound reassuring. "I don't mean to boast, but after I said my part, it seemed to me that most of them were not quite so convinced anymore. They may be willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, more than you think." He gave her an encouraging smile. "And who can tell – it might be that all of this will yet be cleared up somehow."

Anne nodded mutely. Nevertheless, she could not help asking herself how on earth something was supposed to get 'cleared up', if the only person who might have an explanation for it all, was not able to give one.

**:::**

In the event, Anne spent most of the day upstairs in her room. She had asked Mr. Butterbur if she could borrow a needle and thread, and thus occupied herself by mending various little holes and the odd seam that had come apart. She opted to sit on the windowsill for this, as the light was best there, and more than once she found herself staring out at the low, gloomy-white cloud ceiling, her sewing lying forgotten in her lap.

She felt a strange sort of unrest that, in fact, had nothing – or at least not much - to do with what had happened that morning Also, she could not help thinking that she had never quite felt like this while they had been travelling – however odd that might be.

When, towards the afternoon, Anne heard steps outside her room, she tried turning her head towards the door so quickly that her temple collided painfully with the sloped ceiling above the window. Cursing and rubbing her forehead, she wondered for a moment whether she should dare check who it was. She then scolded herself for being a fool. After all, she knew perfectly well that the elf could be completely noiseless if he wished to, and even if he was not bothering to do so, his steps sounded nothing like those she heard outside in the corridor. Hoping it might perhaps be Pippin, she jumped to her feet, strode towards the door and pushed it open.

It was Rosalin. Anne would not have expected her to be overly warm, perhaps, but the way the black-haired maidservant startled at her voice and then warily looked at Anne peeking around the door did unsettle her a little nonetheless.

Anne forced a smile on her face and kept her voice as casual as possible, asking Rosalin if she could possibly be brought a small washtub or something akin, as well as hot water. The idea had been to take care of her laundry herself, and within the safety of her room, without having people stare at her for a while. Anne did not like to think about the reaction of people if she were to hand over her strange assortment of clothes to inn's servants. She could not help imagining what they might be telling each other as soon as word spread - for example those to women she had overheard outside her window that very morning.

"Have you heard about that strange woman who came here with the elf? Apparently she's wearing nothing but rags underneath! Gave them to the Inn's people to wash!"

" _I_ heard some of them were men's breeches!"

"Shameless! And by all accounts she was not even embarrassed about it …"

Anne winced at the very thought. It seemed that Rosalin thought her request deeply odd, and furthermore made no attempt to hide that fact. After a murmured 'Of course, my lady, I shall see to it at once,' she scuttled away, muttering under her breath. Anne watched her go with sinking spirits. It seemed that Rosalin, at least, was not about to forget what had happened that morning, or was likely to indeed welcome her with open arms. Anne strongly suspected that the same would apply for everybody else who had witnessed the incident – or otherwise heard about it.

She felt her theory somewhat confirmed when, about half an hour later, the young man named Tom knocked at her door to bring her the washtub along with a washboard, a small clothes rack and a bucket with hot water in it. He poured the water into the tub for her, and – with his gaze fixed on some point near her feet – made it clear that he would come back later to collect both the tub and the washboard, but otherwise made no attempt to offer Anne his help or even persuade her to leave her washing to the inn's washerwomen or suchlike. Anne gave an inward sigh, fearing that this was probably the sort of rejection she was most likely to expect from most people around here. Looking back up at the youth, she saw his eyes flick towards her throat; Anne had taken off the necklace as soon as she had entered her room. She raised her eyebrows at the servant, who reddened slightly underneath his pimples and hurriedly made his excuses.

(Although he returned shortly afterwards, apparently having forgotten to ask Anne whether she would like her lunch brought up to her room. Anne, not feeling the least bit hungry, thanked him but declined.) This meant that, towards the evening, she was beginning to feel quite a bit queasy, and started wondering whether it would not be time for supper soon, although she felt rather reluctant to venture downstairs and ask someone.

It was already darkening when there was another knock on her door, and she heard, with some surprise, the voice of the landlord outside. When she opened, he apologised wordily for not having come up sooner and check that everything was in order.

"Begging you pardon, my lady, it has been a busy day. New guests arriving, trying to arrange for new horses and supplies for that party from Dunland … don't know whether you're coming or going at times like these! Would have been a bit of a hustle even without … er … well … yes. At any rate, I came to tell you that your supper will soon be served downstairs, in one of the smaller parlours. If you would follow me …"

With some relief, Anne went to fetch her room key from the top of the chest of drawers in the corner. When she turned to face Butterbur once more, she found him gazing at her pensively, and looking somewhat hesitant at the same time. Just as she warily began to wonder what this might be about, the landlord cleared his throat and looked up at her with a determined expression.

"Forgive me for being a bit blunt, my lady, but there is something else I wished to tell you." He rubbed his hands as if feeling cold all of a sudden, and anxiously peered down at Anne, who was waiting apprehensively.

"I … well, I feel it is only just that I tell you this – especially in regard to the elf-lord's request, concerning you." Anne nodded glumly, as Butterbur cleared his throat once more.

"For I realise, of course, that you have had a bit of an unpleasant start here, so to speak … well, I would not wish for you to feel … well … unwanted here, if you know what I mean. While the er, _events_ from this morning have naturally upset some people – begging you pardon my lady, no doubt they must have upset and shaken you even more – this does not mean that you would not be welcome to stay in Bree. I feel certain that something can be arranged, if you still wish to do so. The people here – well, they may seem all too ready to prejudge and mistrust at times, but I would ask you not to think ill of them. They are good people – most of them at any rate – and would not willingly cause pain or trouble for others. If one is willing to give them a chance, they may soon find it in their hearts to do the same. However …"

Butterbur hesitated for a moment, looking uncomfortable once more. "You should understand, though, that there may always be some who … find that more difficult than others. However you may decide, if there is anything I can be of assistance with, I hope you will not hesitate to ask."

Anne stared at him for a moment, before shyly dropping her gaze, feeling a sudden wave of gratitude towards the innkeeper. He was being so nice, and even after what had happened this morning he was still willing to offer her his help. Not only that, but he was kind and considerate enough to apologise, reassure her about what had happened, and warn her, all at the same time. That could not have been easy, considering he was talking about his neighbours as well as friends, no doubt, and yet he had managed to do so with the utmost tact.

"Thank you, Mr. Butterbur, truly," she muttered. "I realise that I have caused quite a bit of trouble, and –"

"Ah, but not at all, not at all!" He coughed slightly, his whole demeanour businesslike and affable once more.

"Now, where was I – ah, yes, supper! By the way, it appears that there has been a change in plans for … Ah, but I am sure you will hear all about it, soon. Not my place to speak of it anyway, I suspect, no indeed. Oh, but what am I blabbering on about here - This way, please, my lady."

Butterbur barely left Anne time to be bewildered as he bustled off, and she had to hurry to keep up with him. He led her down the several flights of stairs and down the corridor to the same parlour she had sat in with Pippin that morning. The landlord opened the door and motioned for her to go through it with a slight bow. Anne, who could already smell the delicious and rich aroma of freshly baked bread as well as something that might be a meat and vegetable stew, thanked him with a smile and entered the room.

She froze.

The round table was laid for three, and there were three chairs grouped around it. In one of them sat Pippin, looking content with a deep mug in his left hand and a pipe in his right, and in the other – his long legs stretched out in front of him, elbows resting on top of the chair's arms, and his hands folded loosely in his lap – Legolas.

One look at the elf's face, and all hopes of him perhaps not yet having heard everything about what had happened that morning fled in an instant.

He was not so much glaring, or even frowning at her, but there was a certain tenseness about his mouth and eyes - as if he was strongly suppressing some emotion - that told Anne she was in trouble. There was a short silence.

"Ah, Anne! Butterbur found you I see. Good, good. Please, have a seat, will you."

Anne glanced at the hobbit, who had stood and was now pulling out the third chair for her. He was smiling at her, she noted, but it seemed to her that there was something slightly forced, or tense about that smile – although it was possible she was reading some of her own nervousness and anxiety into it. She felt her stomach tighten with nerves nonetheless. While slowly advancing the table, Anne inwardly cursed Butterbur for not having given her any kind of warning, but the next moment, she berated herself for this. The landlord had probably no reason to think she might have misgiving about facing the elf – and facing him she would have had to at some point, not to mention that the reason for that was entirely her own doing. The thought did not stop her from feeling the urge to turn tail and flee the room, however.

She was glad that Pippin was there, though. Somehow she doubted that, with him in the room, Legolas would be quite as hard on her, as he might otherwise have been. So thinking, Anne felt a rush of gratitude – which quickly abated as the hobbit, still standing, drowned his mug and knocked out his pipe, before saying. "I shall go and get a sniff of fresh air while our supper is got ready, then. See you later, if they don't let that stew burn after all."

Anne kept her gaze fixed firmly on her hands, that were tightly clasped in her lap, even as she heard the sound of the door behind her falling shut.

**:::**

III III III


	25. Up on the Fence

**III III III**

**:::**

In the silence that ensued after Pippin had left the room, Anne could hear a gentle pattering on the window; the clouds that had been threatening the town all day were finally releasing their burden.

"Will you do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye at least?"

The elf's voice was as cool and soft as silk. Anne, finding it very difficult to lift her head, all of a sudden, did not obey at once.

"Look at me!" Legolas said sharply.

Wincing, Anne looked up at him – only to involuntarily drop her gaze back to her hands at once, after seeing how darkly he was looking at her. She rather sensed than heard his movement as he stood and closed the gap between their chairs with two long strides.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Anne saw him bend down slightly. Before she could think of anything to say or do, he had grabbed her around the chin, and was forcing her head upwards, so she had no choice but to look at him.

Her heart appeared to skip several beats.

There was a spark of cold fury in his eyes that she had not quite expected – even while knowing fully well that she had behaved stupidly. She felt her pulse quicken against his hand.

Despite herself she looked away from his eyes, focusing her gaze on his hair instead, which was gleaming softly in the firelight like dark, polished wood. She vaguely noticed that it appeared to be damp.

"How did this happen?" Legolas now asked calmly, though cold anger was still palpable in every syllable, "Who did it?"

Anne, who had already opened her mouth to respond – though, whether in order to try and defend herself, or to wail and pathetically beg for forgiveness, she was not quite sure – stopped herself, frowning slightly.

While his first question she had expected, the second one did not seem to make much sense, somehow.

'Who did it', what was that supposed to mean? If Legolas had indeed been told everything that had occurred by Pippin, then he knew exactly who had 'done it'. Was this some sort of punishment, she warily wondered – acting as if he did not already know, only in order to force her to tell him about the whole disaster herself?

Or, was this possibly some sort of strange 'learn from your mistakes'-moment, and he was trying to be kind by giving her the chance to admit to it all?

Somehow she suspected not.

Hoping to, perhaps, gauge some of the elf's intends and purposes from his expression, Anne surreptitiously glanced up at his face. With deepening confusion she saw that he was not, in fact, meeting her eyes – he was inspecting some point on the left side of her forehead, so it seemed.

Interpreting her silence correctly, no doubt, his eyes sought hers for a brief moment, before flicking back towards her brow.

"Who did this?" he repeated, more slowly than before, as if talking to a slightly thick-witted child. Although he was still looking grim, his tone was softer this time, and less sharp.

Suddenly Anne realised what he was talking about - the bump on her temple, from when she had hit her head on the ceiling, that afternoon. She had completely forgotten about it, let alone thought that there still might be visible evidence. Trust an elf to immediately spot it though, she suspected.

"No … nobody did," she finally croaked out, "I mean, well … _I_ did, I hit my head."

"Ah … I see," muttered Legolas, his face seeming to relax – although Anne was not sure whether she was not imagining things now.

He was still frowning slightly, tilting his head, as if to assess the damage she had caused. "It is swollen, and there is a little blood in your hair. How could you not have noticed that?"

Perhaps it was just her excessively guilty conscience, but Anne thought he almost sounded a little accusing.

"Well, I did not do it on purpose, if that is what you are asking," she said with a tad more exasperation than she had intended, while dropping her gaze back towards her hands. Immediately she was convinced that she could feel his glare, like an icy breeze.

Anne wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She also wished he would let go off her face already, and stop staring at her like this.

He promptly did her the favour – then took a step backwards and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Yes, I did assume so," Legolas said, regarding her coldly. "Although I shudder to ask what else you have been up to this day."

He both turned and stepped back towards his chair in one, flowing movement, and sat back down.

"Nothing," Anne muttered. "Well, that is to say … nothing apart from what I … from what you already know, I mean."

She glanced at his face, which was unreadable.

"You … you _have_ heard all about it, I suppose?"

"Did you expect me not to?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, no – I, er -"

"When I returned, two of the serving wenches were sitting in the main parlour, busily gossiping about your performance, for a start."

Anne groaned inwardly, suspecting (rightly) that she had probably not come out the hero in _that_ account. She felt nerves and shame bubble up inside her once more, and her next words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

"In that case, I should probably be surprised that you are not more angered –"

"I _am_ angered, make no mistake about that!"

Legolas had barely raised his voice, yet his words seemed to cut into her like blades. Anne involuntarily drew up her shoulders and found herself staring at the cheerful pattern of the carpet to her feet.

"Not only were you foolish enough to let yourself be goaded into speaking of a private and very grave business of mine – which one might at least try to excuse, or explain with that hotheadedness of yours – but also you are giving me the impression that you are not even taking this entire episode all that seriously, or are paying indeed much heed of any advise or warning you have been given. And for you, now, to speak so blithely about -"

"You are right."

Legolas fell silent, although Anne's interruption had been barely above a whisper.

"I am sorry. It was a stupid thing to say," she went on, her throat still feeling rather tight, "But – please – believe me, I am not being blithe. Far from it, really. If it does indeed seem that way to you - that is to say, if _I _seem that way - then that is only because I find this all a little … I find it difficult to …"

Casting around for words she spread her hands in a helpless gesture, as if hoping to wordlessly express her feeling of strange detachedness and alienation to him. She had, in fact become more and more aware of it during the afternoon, in the quiet and seclusion of her room. I seemed to make little sense, and that confused and scared her a little. She could not remember ever having felt as lonely and out of place during these past weeks of travel as she was feeling now – despite being surrounded by people.

She was also fairly certain that it was not simply a matter of not wanting to 'fit in', or to get along with the Breelanders, because – and she felt that very strongly – she did _wish_ to belong. She wanted to have friends, people she could trust to tell about her feelings and secrets, or even just to gossip, and tell each other stories.

She wanted to be a part of something – anything.

Was she being unreasonable? Perhaps this was too much to ask for. Perhaps, after everything that had happened, she was supposed to be glad to be alive, to be cared for even, and to be more or less looked after. It did not change the way she was feeling, however.

Not that she was going to admit any of this to Legolas, she thought, being aware of the fact that it would sound childish, if not ungrateful. She looked at the elf's face, took in the slight frown, the tension of skin around his mouth, making it clear that he was still angry at her. However, there also seemed to be something akin to sympathy in his expression – or, at least, Anne thought there was.

She took a deep breath, before carrying on, "Forgive me. It was not my intention to anger you even further. If my behaviour seems … odd to you, it is because … well, because I _am_ a little hot-headed, maybe, I do not know. I certainly seem to say the wrong thing, or do something inappropriate in the wrong moment often enough. It was the same thing this morning. The truth is – after Pippin had spoken to them, I had already begun to think that it might, yet, turn out all right, but then …"

She ruefully shook her head, still mad at herself.

"I could not … I know, it was the stupidest thing to do, even if it had not been for the way those Dunlanders had attacked me. I was telling that to myself even then, but I just …," she sighed, glancing up at him, "I became so furious - I felt sick to the stomach with it. I am sure it must sound terribly immature and childish to you, but …" She shrugged helplessly, giving up on explaining.

"Pippin mentioned something to me about the differences between mortals and elves … how we are less - 'level-headed' than you are, because we lack your wisdom of all your years. I suppose that must be true, or, at least in my case it is."

Legolas, who had listened to her in silence until now, was giving er a stern look.

"I am not trying to excuse what I did with being mortal," Anne added hurriedly, "That was not what I meant at all – nor that I would dream of saying the same thing about … well, Pippin himself for example."

Legolas nodded slowly by way of acknowledging her amending her words. "I would think not. I have known many brave and noble mortals - both Men and Hobbits - and Pippin being one of them. I have met Women and men, who possessed courage and wisdom alike, and also the willpower to do the right thing when it is needed – even if, at times, that means to stay silent when their hearts might tell them to speak, or refrain from doing something that they know to be an ill choice – no matter how right and just it might seem at the moment they were presented with it."

Anne nodded awkwardly; while realising that she deserved everything he was throwing at her (and the truth was, she had actually expected the whole thing to turn out much worse, it had to be said), she still could not help the slight stinging of wounded pride at his words – as ridiculous as she knew that was.

There was another small pause before the elf continued; his tone sounded hesitant and also, for some reason, a bit tense.

"You spoke of the Dunlanders attacking you. Was that when you hit your head?"

Anne looked up at him in some bewilderment, before she understood what he was referring to.

"What? Oh, no. No, that happened in my room, there is a steep ceiling …" Anne began to explain, and then hesitated for a brief moment, not wishing to appear any more idiotic to him, than, no doubt, she already did.

"I was startled by some noise, and hit my temple at the ceiling," she said finally. It was sort of true, after all.

"I did not mean 'physically attack', but rather with words. They were not exactly … restraining themselves," Anne muttered. "Those awful things they said. How they spoke of … it was part of the reason, why I … ah, well, you know …"

Legolas looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Aside from my part in all this, I do hope you understand what sort of plight you have landed yourself in. The Breelanders are indeed not likely to forget about all this any time soon."

"I realise that," Anne said quietly. "I have been thinking about it all day – wishing I could somehow make all my words undone."

"Sometimes they cannot be."

Legolas considered her huddled-up form for a moment, and then sighed.

"I would ask you what, in the name of all good powers of this world, you thought you were doing, but - as I understand - Pippin has already seen to that for me."

"Oh, yes, he did," Anne said swiftly, "Although, in truth, he needed not have said it, perhaps. Even without him telling me, I knew exactly –"

"No, I am certain that it needed to be said," Legolas cut across her tartly.

Anne swallowed and then nodded, attempting to look suitably chastised without looking shamefaced – and failed. When he saw her hang her head, Legolas sighed.

"Mayhap I am also not without blame. It is easy to forget, sometimes, how young you are. There are, no doubt, things I was at wrong to ever have let you know – or even to let you guess at them.

Anne was not sure whether these words were supposed to be comforting, but the tone of weary indifference, and cold acceptance in his voice – like she had acted every bit as untrustworthy as she was to be expected – was, somehow, hurting even more than his anger.

"I am sorry," she said again, in a small voice, "Truly."

She could rather feel than see him regarding her closely for several moments – and suddenly found herself wishing she were wearing several more layers of clothes. She was also incredibly annoyed with herself for the unshed tears stinging in her eyes. They were tears of shame, hurt, faint humiliation, but also the hint of the feeling of being treated unfairly, and probably a dozen other things. It was all she could do to keep herself from angrily wiping at her eyes. Something told her that dissolving into hysteric bawling would leave the elf rather unimpressed – to say the least.

When, at last, he spoke, his tone was, albeit still serious, gentler than it had been for the entire conversation.

"Perhaps, then, we can leave it at this."

Anne lifted her head, even forgetting that her eyes were still wet, and stared at him, not quite daring to hope that this had been it.

"There is little sense in wasting both our time by repeating what you already have been told, would you not agree? I do hope you will take this to heart, though."

He looked at her sternly.

"You must learn to hold your tongue, girl, or it will be a mere matter of time before you find yourself faced with someone less forgiving. I have made myself clear, I trust?"

Anne nodded mutely. Legolas scrutinised her face, while picking up his cup and sipping from it.

"There is also something else I need to discuss with you," he finally said, "I admit that I did indeed consider whether you might have done all this on purpose, for not wanting to stay here –"

With a quick wave of his hand he cut her muffled protest short.

"I do not, in truth, believe that now. However, if it were – you might just be granted your wish."

He noted her staring up at him, uncomprehending, and sighed.

"The situation would be similar, albeit undeniably less grave, had not chosen to scream at that man, thus I do not blame you. As I have told you already, this is nothing I would have chosen any more than you. Yet, in a way, you are my responsibility, and therefore I cannot leave you in this town, if there is a chance of any harm coming to you – not unless it were your explicit wish, of course."

Anne blinked at him. "You … think that the Breelanders might –"

"No. According to what happened today, though, the villagers are not the only ones to be reckoned with."

It took Anne a moment to recover from this surprise. As it sank in, she became aware of other feelings. Relief? Anticipation? Fear? Hope? Or, perhaps, it was all of them? Finally, she trusted herself to speak again, still gaping incredulously at the elf.

"That means that … you would take me back? All the way?"

"I do not bounce at the prospect, I assure you," he replied coolly, "However, I will be riding with others on my way back, which means I will be slowed down considerably as it is - with or without you. You could travel with us as far as Rhovanion only, and there is a great chance you will not be able to return to Carrockton. Therefore you possibly would have to stay in the woodland realm. Since we do not know what happened in Laketown, it is too early to make any plans from there, but, should the option of returning there present itself, it is possible that some of my people can take you."

Anne was not quite sure what to say to this – or how she was supposed to feel about it, for that matter. It all happened so sudden. She had already resigned herself to having to stay here for good, and now … She also felt faintly curious as for who those 'others' might be, Legolas had said he would be travelling with, but knew better than to ask him just now.

So far, Bree had at least turned out to be anything but boring, that was for sure.

"I … this is … thank you –"

"Do not thank me. I am offering you the option, merely, the decision lies with you. We shall leave by tomorrow afternoon, so you only have till then to think about it."

"Tomorrow … so soon?"

"I understand this is sudden, but I cannot afford to linger for your sake. Consider it as carefully as you may, but also bear in mind that, what I have said to you concerning your acting applies, no matter where you are."

Anne nodded, feeling somewhat glumly again.

"I know."

"Well, then." Legolas regarded her intently for a moment. He then set down his cup on the table, and went on, "No matter how you may decide, there are two things I shall ask of you. Before that, however - I would like you to show me that necklace, which apparently started this whole exploit."

"The … yes, all right," Anne stuttered, slightly taken aback by his request, and the sudden change of subject. "It is upstairs, though."

"Will you fetch it for me?"

"Of course," Anne said quickly, relived that the worst part of all this seemed to be over, but also for a chance to get away from the elf's keen gaze for a moment, and to compose herself a little. She stood, and, without another glance at Legolas, she strode over to the door, and left the room, vaguely wondering if their supper was burnt yet, and where Pippin might have got to, as she made her way upstairs to her room. As far as that other 'option' Legolas had just presented to her was concerned - she did not even attempt to busy her mind with that that prospect (and what it would imply) for the present. Being in a complete turmoil did not tend to help considering _anything_ calmly or carefully, of that she was certain. In fact, she tried very hard _not_ to think about it for this very reason, knowing that it would make no sense. She was, of course, failing completely.

Her other two questions, at least, were answered when she returned to the small parlour, about ten minutes later. (This included the five minutes she had spent frantically searching her room, before remembering that she had shoved the necklace right to the bottom of her pack after taking it off that morning.)

The table had been laid in her absence – there were fresh loaves of bread, butter, a plate with cold meats and cheese, as well as the large terrine of stew, which was placed on a warmer with several low candles in it.

Pippin was standing at the table, pouring himself a mug of what appeared to be beer from a large jug. There were also several pitchers with water, as well as a jug that seemed to be filled with wine.

Anne went over to Legolas, while giving the hobbit a small smile, and receiving one in return. As she handed the chain with its pendant to the elf, she thought she saw a shadow pass over his face, but before she could be sure about what she had seen, it was gone, and he had taken the necklace from her hand. She then sat down, nervously watching Legolas, who, in turn, was looking closely at the small piece of silver. Anne noted that he seemed somewhat reluctant to touch it, holding the necklace by its chain as he examined the little feather, which was glittering innocently in the light of the candles.

"What do you think?" Pippin asked, sitting down as well, and reaching for Anne's cup to fill it for her. "Have you seen something like that before?"

"I cannot say, I fear," Legolas said slowly, "It is rather crudely made …"

"Really?" Anne exclaimed before she could stop herself.

"I thought it seemed so delicate …"

She fell silent as she saw Legolas frowning at her. He did not comment any further on her interrupting him, though.

"Not for an elf, it would not," Pippin explained instead, with a slight grin. "So there might be no connection at all to those self-proclaimed order people?" he then asked, addressing Legolas, now.

"As I said, there is no way to tell for certain," the elf murmured, still frowning, "Neither are those rumours flying around to be called reliable. And for all I know, this 'order' may have nothing to do with what is happening in the north."

"Would that not be too much of a coincidence to hope for?" Pippin asked, looking doubtful.

"'Hope'?" I would not think so, no," Legolas replied, looking dark, "One enemy seems more than enough to me."

Anne looked from one to the other, feeling the questions multiplying in her head, although she realised this might not be the best time to start asking them.

Legolas let the necklace sink and looked at her. "I trust it you will not mind if I keep this?"

Anne shook her head. "No, of course not. I don't want it."

There was a pause in which Pippin cut some of the bread, and Anne watched Legolas as he took a small leather pouch from his belt, and carefully placed the necklace inside.

"You said there were two things you wanted to ask of me?" she finally asked cautiously.

Legolas, having the pouch tied securely to his belt once more, looked up at her.

"Yes, there are. This was not one of them, however," he added with the mere hint of a smile.

For some reason, it seemed to Anne that the room had suddenly become a little bit brighter.

Folding his arms, the elf studied her for a few seconds, before he continued, "First, I would ask you to apologise to that man named Rooklar." He held up his hand as she gasped, motioning for her to let him finish. "I am not saying that you have to do it right now, obviously, but if the chance presents itself, you should seek him out - and ask for his forgiveness for the manner in which you have spoken to him."

"But - If anything, should not _he_ …"

Anne trailed off as she saw Legolas narrow his eyes at her.

"Have you forgotten what I have just said to you? What Pippin said to you, this morning?"

After a moment, Anne nodded, lowering her gaze, though still feeling somewhat sulky.

"Second - look at me, Anne - I want you to give me your word that you will _never again_ do or say anything that might, to the best of your judgement, bring you in any sort of contact with this Order of the Grey Feather."

Anne stared at him, open-mouthed.

"But, why would I –"

"It does not matter why," Legolas interrupted her sharply, "do I have your word?"

"I … yes, of course. I promise," Anne replied quickly, although still bemused. Why would he think that she might, under any circumstances, seek 'contact' with those people?

The elf held her gaze for a moment, before nodding softly. "Then let us not speak of this anymore."

Anne glanced at Pippin, who looked just as bemused by this last part of their exchange than she felt herself, but he recovered himself quickly.

"Good, good! This is settled, then. I take it, this means we can finally eat?"

He did not, in fact, wait for a reply from either of the two, but started handing around the bread, and then proceeded to ladle stew into Anne's bowl.

Their meal passed easily enough, considering the seriousness of the issues that had been discussed. It was clear that Pippin was trying his best to lighten the atmosphere, making comments about the weather (which was perhaps a bit of a poor choice, it had to be said), and attempting to make pleasant conversation about banalities – like the door sign of the inn, for example, which seemed to be a recent addition, ("What was wrong with the old one, I wonder, _I_ liked it. Nobody concerns themselves with a bit of peeling off paint, and it had that certain homely feeling, if you know what I mean …") but also about whether Theobald Butterbur was to be considered corpulent or not. The latter Anne only listened to with half an ear, as she had started to mull over other things in her head. That was, until – when the young, male servant had just entered the room to clear off some of the plates, and in the process had been roped into the conversation as well - Pippin asked for her opinion.

"… I mean, I knew his uncle, of course, and I would have thought that such things run in the family, so to speak, meaning no offence, but then – with hobbits – it can go quite the other way as well, so perhaps it is the same with the big folk … what do you reckon, Anne?"

"Oh … ah, well –" Anne faltered, not wanting to admit that she had not really been listening. "Well, I suppose he might just like his hearty food, you know … also drinking beer tends to make men a little plump around the waist, does it not?"

There was a short silence, in which the youth stared at Anne in astonishment, before Pippin finally snorted into his mug, and Legolas made a sound that might have been a cough.

"Ah … yes, quite right, quite right … well, I was actually saying that the younger Butterbur looks rather 'leaner' than his uncle in that respect, but … no matter, no matter."

Pippin could have been a little less obvious in 'trying' to suppress his laughter, Anne thought, but then, it was hardly her place to argue. He was still sniggering when the servant had left the room (staring back at them over his shoulder), and Anne, who was feeling rather awkward, turned to Legolas.

"I just remembered – Butterbur mentioned something about a 'change of plans' to me, and that I would probably hear about it from you. Do you know what he might have been talking about?"

Legolas exchanged a glance with Pippin, before answering.

"It does not, in truth, concern you, but – yes, there was."

"Of course, you would not have heard about it, Anne," said Pippin, "It was a bit of a surprise, really, but it seems that … this Maeren Blackthorn has changed her mind about accompanying Legolas."

"What? Just like that? She is going to help you after all, then?" Anne stared at them both, wondering just how many surprises one day could bring. "But … well, that is good news, is it not? Although, it does seem terribly fickle …" She said the last part very quietly, but Legolas heard her nonetheless, of course. He gave her a look, which told her plainly that he did not think her in the position to make such observations.

At least, this explained the elf's talk of not being alone on his way back. Still, his words had been 'with others', not 'with someone else', Anne remembered. She could not help wondering, who else might be of the party.

Pippin was merely shrugging, however, and Legolas did not look like he was going to elaborate, so Anne contented herself with the knowledge that the journey here had not been a complete waste, after all. She felt strangely drained, she suddenly realised, but also the exhaustion from the whole day was hitting home now that she had been sitting and actually relaxing for a while. When she stood and made her excuses, having decided to retire to her room, Legolas asked her if she had any of that balm left, the one he had given to her for her shoulder-wound.

Anne turned back around to face him, looking surprised. "Yes, I think so. Do you need it?"

"No, but you might be well served by using some on that bump."

It took Anne a moment before she knew what he meant.

"Oh!" She laughed wearily. "It is nothing, really. I had even forgotten about until before, when you asked me if I had been hit … it would probably look a bit different, if those Dunlanders really _had_ attacked me," she added as an afterthought. What on earth was she blabbering on about, she wondered vaguely. She really should go to bed.

Pippin slowly turned his head towards Legolas, raising his eyebrows as he did so.

Legolas, in turn, had not taken his eyes from Anne, though it seemed to her that his gaze had become a little steely.

Anne swallowed. "On the other hand, it cannot hurt to be careful, can it," she hurried to add, "If you think it might help …"

Legolas made a strange movement of his head – a sort of tilt and bend at the same time, as if he was mocking her (just a stab in the dark here). "I do indeed."

"Ah … yes. Well … thank you, then," said Anne, looking flustered.

She then hastily bade them both 'good night', before escaping the room.

As she climbed the stairs towards her floor, she could not help but to wonder a little. Not that she had not gotten used to the elf's sometimes erratic behaviour by now - and to think that he clearly considered _her_ to be fickle … talk about the pot calling the kettle black! What had surprised her more, though, was Pippin's reaction. It had almost looked like he was trying to make sense of something, Legolas had said or done just now. Yes, he could be dismissive and rude sometimes, but surely it was not such an odd thing, even for him, to advise her to put salve on a wound?

Anne did not puzzle over this long, however. By the time she had reached her room, she was back to the question she had been subconsciously asking herself ever since she had run up to her room to fetch the necklace for Legolas.

What was she to do? In a way, it had been easier when there had been but one option for her.

Yes, she had felt somewhat gloomy at the prospect of saying goodbye – of watching the elf leave, knowing she was likely to never see him again.

Yes, she did feel (as unwilling she was to admit it to herself) drawn to him, and comforted by his presence, as well as closer to him than to anyone else.

However, this was not going to change, she knew, if she kept clinging on to him – symbolically speaking. She had come this conclusion before, it was true, and it was not like being aware of it meant that she was ale to change anything about it, but the fact of the matter was: She had become FAR to attached to him, which, considering that his chivalrous behaviour towards her left quite a bit to be desired at the best of times, was alarming enough in itself.

And if she were to decide to stay here, in the relative safety of Bree? Would this feeling of isolation go away? This sensation of somehow being separated from anybody else by an invisible wall … was it going to change at all?

Anne wondered how much she would regret not leaving with the elf, if she were to stay here and nothing changed. Her thinking invariably led to another question over and over again: How was she supposed to make a choice like this overnight?

She wished she could have more time to compare her options … not that she really had anything to compare, never having been to Eryn Lasgalen – at least not the inhabited part of it.

And then there was Laketown … if it would turn out to be possible for her to return there – would it be any different from Bree, if she did not remember any of it ... any of the people who were, hopefully, still safely living there? Would, perhaps, the people there remember _her_, at least?

With her thoughts spinning like this, it would be a miracle if she found any rest at all tonight, Anne thought wearily – much less the peace of mind to make a not-rushed-but-well-considered decision. When she drifted into an uneasy sleep, several hours later, her last coherent thought was that – should all else fail – she could always flip a coin.

**:::**

After Anne had left the room, there was a moment's silence, in which Pippin peered at Legolas over the rim of his mug. The elf, however, giving no indication that he had noticed, poured himself another cup of wine, and then proceeded to stare at the contents pensively, before taking a sip and grimacing slightly.

"This wine is terrible."

"I am sure it could never rival the stuff you might be served at home, or in any elvish company, for that matter," Pippin said quickly. "Why did you ask her whether she had been hit?"

Legolas looked up at the hobbit, raising an eyebrow.

"Begging you pardon?"

"Why did you ask her if any of those Dunlanders attacked her?" Pippin clarified, his voice a little impatient.

"I should have thought you would think it remiss of me not to ask such a thing."

"I am no fool Legolas, I now when someone is stalling. You _know _that nobody laid a finger on her, since I told you everything that happened this morning, blow by blow, so to speak." The hobbit frowned suddenly, his face darkening. "Unless you heard something … or sensed something from her somehow –"

Legolas held up a hand, shaking his head.

"No, Pippin, you need not worry. I heard or 'sensed' nothing of the sort. Aside from the fact that she apparently spent most of the day in her room, I doubt that the landlord, or any of the servants would have failed to notice it, had she left the inn. Also, I do not take her for the sort of person who would keep any such thing to herself. Even if she tried, we would know, I do not doubt it. She is hopelessly incapable of concealing her feelings. At any rate, she seemed genuinely taken aback when I asked her."

Pippin stared at him for a second.

"Well, you certainly know her better that I thought you did. However …"

He suddenly looked shrewdly at the elf. "That is to say then, that you thought _I_ glossed over some of what happened at breakfast?"

Legolas smiled thinly.

"I am almost certain that you did."

"Now, Legolas, I must say it saddens me that you seem to have so little trust in me," Pippin said with mild indignation, "While I might perhaps not say it to your face that this sullen look of yours, that you seem to have adopted of late, does not suit you at all, I would not have expected you to believe me capable of deliberately keeping something of importance from you!"

Laughing softly, Legolas held up both his hands, as if by way of apology.

"I suspect I deserved that. My friend, I do not doubt your sincerity, but will you deny that you have left out the odd word Anne might have said in her fury? For all her quiet brooding, she can be rather … _candid_ at times, I did register that by now."

"I would have thought that those things I repeated to you were already candid enough, without suspecting that I had left something out," muttered Pippin, "But even if I had – why on earth would I not tell you if someone had seriously hurt her in any way?"

"Perhaps you thought I would consider it as my responsibility to ensure that the culprit be punished, and do something rashly?"

"Assuming that I _had_ indeed thought along those lines, would I have been wrong in that assessment?"

Legolas looked as if he were considering the hobbits question.

"I expect we shall never find out."

"Perhaps that is a good thing," Pippin muttered. "I hope we have established then, that I did indeed tell you everything that has occurred? I kept nothing from you, not even the meekest expletive."

"I would not exactly have held it against you," Legolas replied with a faint smile. "You were kind to protect Anne as you did. You have a bit of a soft spot for her, do you not?"

"Well, yes. Whatever you may say about her, the girl has her heart in the right place, and a rather stout heart, for that matter, unless I am quite mistaken."

Legolas inclined his head. "I will not deny that."

Pippin peered up at him.

"You do realise that she really meant no harm by what she said? She defended you fiercely – I was quite a bit touched, to tell you the truth."

"So you have told me. I do hope, however, that it was not quite how you phrased it, when talking to Anne."

"Well – I might have mentioned something about being impressed by her defending you so, if you must know – the fact that she did it at all, not the manner in which she did it, mind you! I suppose it is safe to assume that you did not tell her any of the sort?"

"No, Pippin, of course I did not," Legolas sighed, "While I am aware that she meant well, and that you in your kindness were presumably trying to assure her of that, I am not entirely sure that it was all to wise."

"Oh, do not think that I did not impress upon her the foolishness of what she did. However, I will admit that I felt a bit sorry for the poor thing. You should have seen her face, when she realised what she had done. To tell you the truth, I am afraid she is a bit timid of you."

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"Are you, perhaps, suggesting that I am being too rough on her? Should I hold her hand, while telling her to think nothing of it, and not to heed the inclemencies of life?"

"That is not what I meant, and you know it," Pippin said impatiently. "I am simply stating that, today, Anne has shown not only loyalty to you, but quite a bit of courage also. Surely, not even you will argue that?"

"No, but that is precisely my point. If she does not learn to rein in that temper of hers, she will get herself into serious trouble at some point. Also, it was not the first time – although she certainly surpassed herself with today's incident, if your account of it is anything to go by."

"What do you mean?" Pippin asked, looking curious. "Did something similar happen before?"

The elf shook his head.

"Nothing of importance, and also no harm came from it, since it was mostly directed at me."

He glanced at Pippin, who was now grinning slightly, looking even more curious than before. Ignoring the hobbit's prying eyes, Legolas went on.

"It is hardly a laughing matter, Pippin – not if this turns out to be a habit of hers."

Pippin sighed.

"I know, I know, forgive me. And it is true; I have never seen a woman behave like that. Certain Hobbit-lasses – and –ladies, I'm afraid I must admit – may be a different matter, but that is not the point, I suppose."

"No, indeed. And she is no hobbit, I think we can agree on that at least. Under no circumstances would such behaviour be accepted amongst human company – or even elvish company, I daresay - no matter what her social background be. Surely, even highborn ladies of Men (which, without meaning offence, she is not, if I am not very much mistaken) would never dream of acting in such a way."

"You are right, I suppose," Pippin sighed. He then looked at the elf inquiringly. "You have no idea about her then? Who she might be … or rather, has been?"

Legolas wearily shook his head.

"As I told you last night – While I have visited Laketown, and have met its mayor on several occasions, I know nothing of his children, or if, indeed, he even has any. The garments she brought with her would indicate that she does not come from a humble household, however –"

"… They might not even be hers," Pippin finished the sentence for him.

"No, they might not."

The hobbit looked at him inquiringly.

"There is something else, though, isn't there? You do not sound convinced."

Legolas did not immediately respond, but gazed into the fire for a moment. Pippin took a sip from his beer, while keeping his eyes closely on the motionless form of his old friend. Finally he leaned forward.

"Legolas?"

The elf glanced up at him, and gave an elegant shrug.

"It is a mere feeling, and there is, perhaps there is no deeper meaning in it. However, the strongest thing I percept from her is a sense of … _not belonging_. I cannot think of a way to phrase it better. I think she even had half a mind of speaking to me about it, but then abandoned the thought."

"You mean, 'belong' here in Bree?" Pippin asked in some bewilderment. "But that is to be expected, surely? After all, she has arrived here only yesterday, and wherever she does hail from, it clearly is not Bree, or someone would have recognised her, no?"

"I do not think that feeling bears any relation to this place – or any other place, if I were to guess. I can tell that she consciously feels it as well, but this … lack of belonging, so to speak, it rather seems as if it is more … general. Almost as if it was about her whole being, inextricably linked with her existence. It did not begin after we came here, either. I was aware of it since the day I first met her, and while it appeared to grow less as we travelled, it has become stronger again – though I cannot be entirely certain."

Pippin stared at him, open-mouthed.

"But what, on earth, do you think that means? You do not believe it might be simply due to her having lost her memory?"

"I have no experience in such matters – but, somehow, I do not think so, no." He looked intently at Pippin. "The truth is – it has been reminding me of something all this time, though I could not say what exactly it was. Only recently, I realised where I have sensed this sort of thing before – or rather from whom. A feeling as if a person does somehow not quite … belong. A feeling that, for all they _might_ supposed to be in this world - by the laws of the universe they should not be."

"You have lost me, my friend!" Pippin was shaking his head. "Will you explain this riddle to me, or do I have to guess?"

"I might not be able to explain it, but I shall tell you who I was thinking of. Although, you, of all people, should know, perhaps."

"Oh, now you are just being … ah … hold on a second," Pippin's eyes grew wide. "No, you cannot possibly mean … _Gandalf_!?"

When he saw Legolas slowly incline his head, and smile softly at the memory of the wizard, Pippin slowly set down his mug, staring at the elf in utter confusion.

"But how would that be possible? She cannot have come from the west, you know that much better than I do!"

"I did not say she came from the west – that would indeed be impossible. The thing about her that reminds me of Mithrandir is not her nature, or a notion of some sort of hidden power, or any such thing. It is that sensation … as if she were in a place because of some strange fate – not because she originates from it. Or, as you might perhaps phrase it yourself, 'it just does not feel natural'. It is also part of the reason for me to believe that Bree might not be the best place to live for her, after all."

"But if that were true …" Pippin said slowly, still looking utterly baffled, "And I must say, I would believe you were jesting, had I not seen my fair amount of strange and extraordinary things for myself … But if it is indeed true, and yet she does not come from the west … then were _does_ she come from?"

"I cannot tell you," Legolas said quietly. "It is clear she does not know herself, and as I said – it is a mere feeling. I might be mistaken."

"Hmm … you might be …"

"It would not be the first time."

They both fell into silence after this, Pippin sipping from his mug every now and then, frowning sometimes, as if still trying to get his head around what Legolas had just told him. After several minutes, the hobbit straightened up in his chair with the air of someone who has finally made up his mind about something.

"Legolas," he said slowly, his eyes on the mug in his hands. When I was talking to Anne, she mentioned … something to me. You must not be angry with her, since she did it in an offhanded way, and it was clear that she did not realise the significance it might hold to me. She was not betraying your trust, merely making an innocent observation, as far as she was concerned, of that I am certain. If anything, she confirmed something that anyone who knows you well would have noticed at once."

He glanced at the elf.

"I realise you might not be willing to speak of this … but for the sake of our friendship, I cannot let you part without even having tried to do so."

Looking up, he saw that the elf had stiffened, and while he was still staring into the flames, there was something about his expression – a mixture between resignation and dark anticipation that Pippin had never seen on him before. It only steeled his resolve to speak.

"You know ... a little more than a year ago, I travelled to the south to visit Aragorn. I was sorry not to have met you, but you were back in Rhovanion at that time. Anyway, it was back then that I first … heard of things. The men in Gondor, they spoke about a new threat … rabbles of orcs turning up again, trolls coming down from the mountains, and … other things. Two men came to Gondor while I was there, messengers from their village in South Dorwinion. They told of the same evils, confirming the rumours, but also of something else ... Not far from their village, there suddenly had appeared strange, low, black buildings, but they looked more like barrows, so they said, and the men swore that they had not been there before. No one wished to go near them; they said those things had something ominous and sinister about them, and that they caused an oppressive feeling. In the end, one brave soul went to investigate them, but that man … they said, something terrible happened to him."

Shuddering, Pippin stared into the fire, as if its warmth might somehow suppress the feeling of cold dread that this memory seemed to have caused in him.

"Apparently, nobody knew exactly what had occurred, or had witnessed anything, but they seemed to believe that … that the man had somehow lost his mind. As if something had driven him insane. Aragorn was very worried - apparently there had been reports of similar happenings elsewhere, too. While it all seemed to have started somewhere near the Iron Hills, they said it had to originally come from further north – or perhaps eastwards from Rhun. No one really knew what to make of it, but it was said that the human settlements near those areas were being abandoned, one after the other. Also, Thorin and his people had left their realm and retreated back to Erebor – those of them who dwelled there at the time, I mean."

Pippin regarded Legolas cautiously, as if trying to gauge his reaction.

"I did not stay long after that. To tell you the truth, I had not thought I would live to see such things again," he muttered, "It was all very disconcerting. I know that Aragorn was planning to send men to the north-east, however.

He looked back at Legolas, who was still showing no reaction or acknowledgement to what Pippin was telling him. If there seemed to be a slight tension around his lips and eyes, it might have been caused by the play of light and shadow from the flames.

"I knew that something was happening. Even in the Shire we hear news every now and then, albeit little. But then – when I came to Rivendell last month …"

Pippin looked at Legolas more intently now, but also with a hint of sorrow on his face.

"I met Glorfindel there, Legolas. I had not seen him in many years, and he was, in fact, preparing to leave and travel east, and to your father's realm, but he was still kind enough to spare some time for me, and we talked long. He had dark tidings as well, though …

Those men, Aragorn had sent – they had not come back. Not one of them. Apparently many months had gone by without word from them, and then … Another group of ten or so – both Elves and Dúnedain from Ithilien - rode after them, although Aragorn was against this, it was said. That second group … they, too, never send word …nor did they return, so it seems. Or, at least they had not returned at the time the messengers – who had extended their stay even, hoping for news from them, so I believe – set out back for Rivendell at last – and that was many months after they had left."

There was a pause. Pippin glanced at Legolas, who seemed to have become even stiller than before. When he continued, his voice was barely audible over the low crackling and spitting of the fire.

"No one seemed clear on whether you had ridden with them, or whether you had journeyed back to Eryn Lasgalen to report to your father …"

When Pippin glanced up at Legolas again, he was startled to see that the elf had turned his head and was looking straight at him; there was such an utter darkness and despair in his eyes that, for a moment, Pippin felt as though all the air and light had vanished from the room. When he finally found his voice again, it sounded hoarse, even to his own ears.

"… But you did ride with them, did you not? Did … did you find Aragorn's men? If the messengers had waited, would they, perhaps, have been able to ease all our worries? What did you –"

"Twelve."

Legolas had spoken softly, and as if to himself. He had slowly dropped his gaze towards the fire, but now his eyes were seeking Pippin's face once more. The hobbit was looking at him, frowning in incomprehension.

"We were twelve. Five Elves and seven Dúnedain. And it would not have mattered whether the messengers had waited or not. It was over long before they returned to Imladris."

"_What_ was over? And if you went with eleven others, where have they got to, if they have not yet gone back to Gondor?"

Pippin had the strange sensation of not getting quite enough air again. As if something invisible, big and greedy was using it all up. Legolas had turned his head back towards the fire, the flame's tiny reflections mirrored in his eyes. When Pippin had already begun to suspect that the elf was not going to answer his last question, Legolas spoke at length - his voice gentle, his gaze still fixed on the dancing flames.

"I killed them."

**:::**

**III III III**

* * *

**AN: **A long chapter with even LONGER conversations, so it seems... I know it has been a lot of talking lately, but some of those confrontations have been overdue, really :-/

Ironically, there isn't much to say about this part. I'm sorry for the 'pimply youth' ;) yet again (poor guy, I realise he can probably not even be called two-dimensional )

One thing I should mention, perhaps, before anyone gets a chance to complain: When Pippin is speaking about Thorin, it should be noted that this is NOT Thorin Oakenshield (for obvious reasons), who journeyed with Bilbo to Erebor, but Thorin Stonehelm, who was the son of Dáin II, and, for all we know, the lord over the Iron Hills since after the war of the ring – if there has indeed been a dwarven population there again, something on which Tolkien was not quite clear.

Of course, if you have questions or suggestions, let's hear it

I can't promise that I will be able to post the next chapter as quickly as this one; I'm working a lot on this story, and usually get a little bit done every other day or so (While on the train f.e.), but since I write a lot of it by hand, it is the editing and typing it out, which really takes up most of the time. I'll do my best though

And – as ever – my sincere thanks to everyone reading this story, and especially those who take the time to tell me their thoughts about it. It means more to me than you think


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